


The Vampire & The Hunter: Eternal Lovers

by Jennyfer



Series: Gotham Supernatural- AU [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, Gotham- Supernatural Alternative Universe, Hunters, M/M, Multi, Pining, Romance, Smut, Soulmates, True Love, Vampires, Victorian era, Violence, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2019-10-15 08:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennyfer/pseuds/Jennyfer
Summary: It is 1842 in Gotham city, and over time it has become a popular location for the supernatural.This is a love story that focuses on the relationship between the supernatural hunter Bruce Wayne, and the seductive vampire, Jeremiah Valeska.Their social roles and destinies create conflict between them, but, is the love they share powerful enough to surpass it?





	1. Masquerade Ball

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce Wayne is invited to the Valeska's masquerade ball.  
> You will be introduced to many of Gotham's favorites and Bruce's friends to start off.  
> And then...Bruce meets someone mysterious.

 

An ominous white mist lingers over Gotham city’s sidewalks. Traveling pass dark alleys and dispersing into the chilly atmosphere. Streets vacant except for a few terrified souls heading swiftly home. The only warmth and light radiated from the flickering flames on the streets lampposts.

Bruce Wayne stares outside the window pane from his study to the cityscape. He stood motionless and brooding as he looked heavenward. The sky was partially infused in stunning noir and twinkling stars. The other half, however, looming from the horizon over the city was pitch blackness…a storm.

Bruce was somewhat unaffected by it because he was never afraid of the darkness.

Compared to other cities, the darkness and gloom in Gotham had many representations besides fear. Unbeknownst to the average civilians, Gotham is a popular location for the supernatural. Over the centuries, many werewolves, vampires, and witches have made this city their home.

In recent years, however, the number has decreased, because of Thomas and Martha Wayne- the city’s most superior supernatural hunters. Some of these beings were able to live amongst the people without harming them. However, for those that couldn’t and killed recklessly would have to face the Wayne’s. Unfortunately, it was in this secret line of work in which they met their demise. Now it is up to their only son Bruce Wayne to continue in their tracks as a hunter.

Therefore, Bruce is unscathed by the darkness, he is aware of what’s lurking in the shadows. Though, this sudden storm edging forth as if it wants to swallow the city does bring about an uncanny feeling.  According to Selina Kyle, a friend of his and a witch, a pitch-black storm such a this is a bad omen.

A jittery sensation dances in his chest and down to his gut. Bruce couldn’t fathom why he feels an unsettling yet, pleasant reaction to this storm.

Alfred, the young man’s guardian, and butler saunters into the study and gently knocks on the doorframe, “Master Bruce, your carriage awaits.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” he mumbled, eyes extended into the night sky and deep in thought.

When he finally found the strength to avert his gaze, he exhaled and reached for his father’s gold pocket watch in his ebony waistcoat.

It is 20 minutes until 8:00 pm.

Bruce strides over to his mahogany wood desk. He takes his diamond cufflinks and attaches them at the end of his dark grey long-sleeved shirt, all the while staring at the invitation on his desk.

It read,

“The pleasure of your company is requested at the

Valeska’s Masquerade Ball

On All Hallows’ Eve

At 8:00 p.m.”

The Valeska’s are the new elite members of this society. However, no one knows anything legitimate about them because no one has ever met them. Gossip has spread about them coming from Italy with a vast fortune and that they bought a mansion in the uptown Gotham district.

Bruce takes the invitation and steps out of the study to meet Alfred at the front door.

Alfred unhooks an ebony tailcoat from the stand and assists Bruce in it. The coat fitted firmly around his waist and the tail extended to the back of his thighs. “Will you be needing the cane and hat, sir?” Alfred asked.

Bruce considered it for a second and then replies, “No, I believe the mask will do just fine.”

He looks at his reflection in the mirror by the entryway. He adjusts his ebony satin cravat necktie with a diamond in the center and then fits his gloves on. Lastly, he takes the _Colombina_ black mask and holds it over his face while Alfred ties the ribbons behind his head. The mask covers around the eyes and cheeks and a bit of the nose.

He advances out the front door and into the carriage, “You don’t have to wait up for me,” he insisted.

After Bruce’s parent’s death about a year ago, Alfred has been overprotective and cautious over the young master. “But, I will,” he remarked with a smile, closing the carriage door. “And sir, do enjoy yourself for once,” he harassed.

Bruce waves with mutual understanding as the horses cantered out of Wayne Manor driveway and onto the city’s misty dark streets.

He stares out the carriage window at the crescent moon flickering through the dark tree branches. Since his parent’s died, the creatures of the night have been well behaved. He has taken the opportunity to mourn. Meanwhile, other members of the hunter’s society have been patrolling.

After what felt like several minutes of the carriage sitting idly by, Bruce peeked out the window to find out why. A long line of horses and carriages were leading to the Valeska’s driveway. People were being dropped off at the front steps of the gothic Victorian mansion. Bruce thought it was unnecessary to continue waiting in line, thus he stepped out, and addressed the driver, “I will continue on foot, thank you.”

Bruce took his time strolling on the way to the grand steps. The storm was looming over the mansion. Certain he could hear the echo of thunder within the dark clouds even though it was covered over the sounds of horses neighing, carriages rolling, and people jabbering.

Despite that this event is a Masquerade Ball, Bruce was able to recognize certain people with their masks, others not so much.

The first gentleman is of a short and lean stature wearing a dark plum tailcoat. The man quickly recognizes Gotham’s number one bachelor. He moves his handheld _Pantalone_ stick mask with a medium beak and silver feathers from his face and beams, “Mister Bruce Wayne! Good of you to come.” He waddles over with his cane.

“Oswald,” Bruce greeted.

Next to Oswald was his male suitor, a tall lean man, wearing a dark pine suit with a matching _Colombina_ mask. The man bows lifting his top-hat.

“Edward, good to see you as well.”

The three of them walked in unison through the double doors and down a hallway with large Italian white marble statues of exotic women and men on both sides.

“Don’t you find it a bit odd that the Valeska’s decided on making their grand arrival a masquerade ball on All Hallows’ Eve?” Oswald asked Bruce incredulously, though his eyes continued to admire the half-naked statues as they passed by.

Bruce shrugs, he finds the entire anonymous and mysterious ordeal exciting.

“It’s a bit morbid but I am sure that they will reveal themselves before the end of the night,” Edward assured.

At the end of the hallway, they reached a large elegant gold and white marble staircase with a blood red carpet runner. It extends on each side and connects in the middle of the second floor leading to the ballroom.

Bruce's eyebrows rise, and the corners of his mouth turn up. “This place is incredible,” he marveled. Walls decorated in golden accents, candles and, several angel statues.

Edward takes Oswald’s arm and links it with his own as he escorts him up the stairs.

“Yes, and we have yet to reach the ballroom,” Oswald agreed. “It must have been refurbished by the Valeska’s because it was never this way before. They must have planned to make Gotham their permanent home,” he observed.

Bruce’s hand gently slides up the marble handrail as he takes each step up the stairs in wonderment. The sound of violins and piano were streaming through in perfect melody. Crowds of people chatting and gasping in amazement as he entered the grand ballroom.

The gold and white marble walls continued up to a painted ceiling with several golden chandeliers. Numerous acrobats swung from orange, red, or black silk fabrics. Harlequin entertainers moved their bodies in unnatural ways on the checkered floor, while others were ball jugglers, spitting fire, or serving drinks. At the far end of the ballroom, there was a small stage with an orchestra of violinists, a cellist, and a pianist.

Outside these walls was a dark city but within was a majestic new world.

“Excuse me, I’m going to look around,” said Bruce. Oswald and Edward nodded and made their way to observe the contortionists.

All of Gotham’s rich upper-class society members were there, from businessmen to doctors and politicians. Women elegantly dressed in satin gowns, long gloves, and with the most elaborate and flamboyant masks.

Some women were gossiping in groups, waving their silk fans and opening it over their faces. “Who do you think the Valeska’s are?” one lady asked.

The other lady fans herself nervously eyeing the crowd around her, “I don’t know,” she exasperated.

“Guess I’ll have to seduce every person tonight,” she smirked, raising an eyebrow. The group giggled as they covered their blushing faces with their fans.

Bruce snickers and slightly shakes his head as he passed by them.

Couples waltz on the dance floor to the sounds of the orchestra. Bruce treads through the crowd as he observes all the musicians and entertainers. In Bruce’s perspective, they all seemed peculiar. They were all wearing harlequin masks and costumes but, the way they acted seemed abnormal.

Bruce stops in front of the cellist.

Whilst watching the cellist play a deep and dark tone, he suddenly felt everything around him move slowly. A powerful sense of resurgence sweeps over his body and mind like a blanket causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand.

His eyes slowly shut taking in the ambiance.

From a short distance, he could hear loud footsteps approaching him. He could feel someone close, almost too close behind him.

The sensation- the cold shivers, continue to travel down his spine, his shoulders, and arms. He whimpers.

When the seductive melody of the violins joined the dark cello, Bruce’s eyes flutter open, he gasps and turns around.

No one was there. The people were conversating animatedly or standing around observing the waltz.

At that moment, Bruce saw someone with a full face white mask in the crowd standing still and facing directly at him, but then quickly disappears.

He swiftly and instinctively reacts by stepping towards the direction where he saw the white mask.

“Bruce, is that you, old friend?” a confident young male voice asked.

Bruce turns distracted and squints at the man wearing a dark cerulean phantom mask, covering only the left side of his face, “Oh, hello Harvey,” he panted. The warmth in his chest causing temporary weakness.

“Are you alright?” Harvey’s eyebrows knitted, as he carefully searched Bruce’s perplexed expression.

Bruce couldn’t fathom what he just experienced. “Yes, yes. Eh, I'm a bit overwhelmed. I haven’t been out mingling in this sort of fashion in some time,” he tried to come up with an explanation as he composed himself.

“Ah, yes. My condolences.”

Harvey Dent, a real Dr. Jekyll and Hyde.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry about your parents, Bruce,” sympathized a beautiful pale woman with long flowy blazing red curls adorned with emerald berets.

Bruce's lips curl into a smile at the charming gal next to Harvey.  He takes her white satin gloved hand and gently kisses it, "My, my, you are a vision Ivy. The most gorgeous woman here.”

Ms. Ivy Pepper is one of the rare red-haired beauties in the city. She giggles and then swings her hips gently to ruffle her gown, delightfully robed in chartreuse colored laces and peacock feathers.

"You flatter me, sir,” she smiled, behind her green lacey Butterfly mask. “Though I'd have to disagree because I do believe the most beautiful woman just arrived,” she corrected. She closes her fan with a snap and uses it to point at a blonde woman by the entryway into the ballroom.

The exquisite blonde woman is Ms. Harleen Quinzel, who recently moved into the city. She parades in her lace satin long-sleeved crimson and gold gown. Several men surrounding her begging for a dance, but she politely declines each one of them.

Until a strange man in a black and gold Jester Commedia _Pantalone_ mask with a long beak, skips and then stops right in front of her. He bends his body forward in a dramatic bow and then offers her hand. He looks up to her with a powerful and penetrating gaze.

Ms. Quinzel’s crystal sapphire eyes behind her ruby and gold mask suddenly twinkle. She places a hand on her chest as if to catch her breath.

“Well then, it appears someone is worthy of her attention,” Ivy observed. She turns to Harvey, “I am eager to see the garden, I hear it’s enchanting. Harvey, walk me there?” she pleaded.

“Shortly, darling. See you later Bruce,” Harvey bowed and then treads away with Ms. Pepper’s hand in his forearm.

Bruce nods. He contemplates for a second if he should ask someone to dance. Some women and men have shown interest but, he would avert his eyes and ignore them. He decided to attend this ball out of courtesy, he has no intention on socializing.

Instead, he searched the crowd for the man in the white mask he saw after the strange feeling. He spots Ms. Quinzel and the strange man in the jester mask dancing and laughing. Feeling disheartened, he heads out of the crowd and towards the opened glass double doors close by that lead to the balcony. Bruce was glad to see that no one was there.

The night air was cool and mildly breezy. Bruce leans over the balcony and takes a deep breath. Below the balcony, in a short distance, he could see the mansion's garden and paddock where a few horses were cantering about in the open field. His shoulders relax as he watches the horses play in the darkness.

“Fascinating creatures, aren’t they?” a soft velvety voice asked.

Bruce jerks his head to the side. He was startled, just a moment ago he was alone. However, what startled him the most was the man standing next to him.

It was the man in the white mask.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder...who is this mysterious man in the white mask? (wink*)
> 
> Thank you so much for giving this fic a chance xoxo
> 
> Songs: I listened to a lot of Peter Gundry's vampire music. During the cellist performance, when Bruce feels the strong presence from the man in the white mask, I was listening to "Dark Cello Music-Forever and Never-The Vampire" by him. It inspired that moment.


	2. White Demon's Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gets closer to this man in the white mask, close enough to dance.  
> The night ends with his reveal.

The mysterious svelte man was taller than Bruce. His ebony hair was slicked back. He wore an all-white shirt, trousers, and bowtie, with a pearl white tail coat fitting firmly around his waist. His face was entirely covered by a white ceramic _Volto_ mask, depicting basic lips and nose features. Adorned with golden accents and diamonds around the eyes and cheeks. The only real facial feature projecting through the mask were his sharp silver eyes.

Bruce stood with his mouth slightly agape and hypnotized by the man’s gaze.

The man gracefully places a hand on his own chest, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you. If you prefer to be alone, I can leave…,” he pardoned.

“No,” Bruce said almost immediately and louder than he intended. “I-I don’t mind the company.”

Bruce in his all-black attire stood adjacent to the man in all-white attire. The two of them stood alone on the balcony with the horses and the crescent moon in the background.

"I would introduce myself, but,” the man pointed at his mask “then it’ll defeat the purpose,” he said darkly. Aware of the awkwardness, he tried to lighten the mood, “So, have you any idea about who the Valeska’s could be? I hear they could be a group of exotic women,” he joked, as he leaned over the balcony.

Bruce snickers, relaxing his shoulders again, “I also heard they came from Italy.”

“Well, that makes sense, all the decorations, art pieces, even the entertainers, seem… Italian,” the corners of the man’s eyes crinkled.

Bruce smiles, “I admire it, this place deserves a ton of color and glee.” Then, he ponders, “Though I do wonder _why_ they would come here to this dark and dreary city.”

The man carefully straightens himself and studies Bruce interestingly.

“I would do anything to get out of here.” Bruce’s eyes were watching the horses gallop around the misty field but, his thoughts were distant. “Then again, that’s probably how they felt. An urge to get out.” He sighs, “It’s difficult to find a place where you belong. A place to call home.”

Gotham was Bruce’s home, once. At least, he thought it was. It was home when he laid on the red rug by the roaring fireplace as a child, listening to his mother’s horror stories while father smoked a pipe on the couch. It was home when the creatures of the night were at rest and he played with mother in the garden for hours or rode horseback on the moors with father. The closest thing he has resembling _home_ right now is Alfred. Nonetheless, this city betrayed him and his parents, and he curses it daily.

Bruce’s eyes glisten, he blinks them several times to bring himself back. “Pardon me, I didn’t mean to make this personal.” He keeps a hand on the stone balustrade and turns his body towards the man.

The man in the white mask had stood still like a statue. Then, he steps closer to Bruce, in a tranquil and slow manner, almost hesitant. “Home is not a place…it’s with the people you love,” he comforted. His white-gloved hand sliding on the balustrade, moving closer to Bruce’s black-gloved hand, eager to touch.

Bruce did not step back, instead, he held his breath and remained fixated on the others piercing silver eyes.

The man lifts a hand, palm up, offering Bruce’s hand he says, “Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

In Bruce’s mind, he wants to say no but, the soft word that came out of his lips was, “Sure” as he places his hand in the other. The warm vehement sensation during the cellist performance softly crawls back through his fingertips and spreads throughout his chest. He inhales a shaky breath.

The man takes Bruce’s hand and leads him back inside the ballroom and towards the dancing crowd. 

The Viennese waltz is an elegant and romantic dance. Bruce was nervous, then again thankful for being anonymous now. Except for a few friends.

The man pulls Bruce close by the hand. Then takes his other hand and places it behind Bruce’s shoulder blade. He confidently pulls Bruce closer in towards his chest, as they position themselves for the waltz.

The white masked man took the first step forward in perfect tempo with the sounds of mm-BAP-BAP, mm-BAP-BAP.

Bruce was impressed by how the man’s body turned elegantly and in tune with the music.

He moved and swayed effortlessly.

Bruce occasionally looks down to make sure his feet were in the right position. His heart beating wildly in his chest. From a short distance, he saw Oswald and Edward dancing and praising him from afar, pleased to see the young man making effort to enjoy himself. He gives a light smile and looks away shyly.

The man slows down to a soft pace.

“Look at me,” the man whispers trying to take hold of Bruce’s attention.

Quickly shifting his eyes to silver eyes.

“Hmm, at first glance your eyes appeared dark, but now I can see a hint of dark green. Juniper, perhaps? How mysterious,” he observed.

Bruce swallows. No one ever notices his eye color, ever. When the man stared, it felt like he was staring right into his soul. Bruce felt vulnerable, naked. As the man leans in closer, Bruce missteps.

“Oh, forgive me, I haven’t danced in some time,” his eyes avert back down to his feet. He shakes his head, embarrassed by his sudden lack of talent. He is a flustered mess and is trying very hard to remain calm.

“Is that so? Well, I haven’t noticed,” the man said derisively, with a hint of jest in his tone.

Bruce smiles crookedly, “Was that sarcasm?”

The man lifts an eyebrow and then they both laugh quietly in each other’s arms.

The man squeezes Bruce’s hand a little tighter and presses him even closer, “Relax and let me lead.” Voice velvety and sweet and eyes never leaving Bruce’s face.

With those words and that gaze, Bruce relaxes almost immediately, surrendering all his shields. Trusting this mysterious man to take hold of his body and lead.

On the dance floor, many couples were dancing to the graceful sounds of the violins and the piano. The most extravagant dancers were Ms. Quinzel and the jester masked man. He was twirling her across the floor. Her beautiful red and gold gown winds through all the dancing couples. He would lift her high in the air from her waist and she would laugh. While they showed off, Bruce and the man in the white mask stayed in one area. In their own little world.

In their own little world, the dancing couples surrounding them froze in place. They twirl their bodies together flawlessly in a soft and relaxing form of the waltz. Lost in each other’s eyes.

For a second Bruce’s eyes flicker to his hand over the man’s shoulder, fingers close enough to touch his neck, the small portion of skin showing.

Bruce’s mind, body, and soul were all caught up in this man. He didn’t want to leave this moment, not ever. But eventually, this night will be over.

The sounds from the orchestra softened, hinting to a close. Their steps slowing into a stop.

The man in the white mask kept his hand tight around Bruce’s and his other hand clutching the shoulder blade tightly and close after they stopped dancing.

Bruce can feel his heart in his throat now. The man too close for comfort. He didn’t want this man to let him go. Whoever he is. Bruce’s lips part, but no words came out. Instead, he swallows them down. After a while of staring endlessly into each other’s eyes, Bruce’s eyes sadden and breaks away.

The man’s silver eyes sadden as well as if in sync with Bruce’s emotions. Letting him go in the process.

The ballroom music comes to a full stop, followed by loud applause. The man’s voice almost inaudible, mumbles, “I believe they are about to make an announcement.” He tilts his head slightly forward in a bow.

“Benvenuto signore e signori!” the orchestra's maestro announced. “This is the moment you all have been anxiously waiting for,” his Italian accent thick and joyful. He waited until the people were all gathered around the orchestra stage. “I am honored to present to you…,” his smile widens, teeth showing, “THE VALESKA’S!”

People searched around the crowd and on the stage.

Suddenly, everyone’s attention was at the young blonde beauty and the man with the jester mask she was dancing with. He takes Ms. Quinzel’s gloved hand and kisses it. She blushes. After he bows, he skips animatedly up onto the stage.

Ms. Quinzel’s face altered dramatically, she gasps alongside everyone else. Heart pounding in her chest, she quickly opens her fan and waves it tensely, as if to cool herself from a sudden heatwave. She has been dancing and giggling the night away with a Valeska.

Bruce naturally turns his attention as if someone called him. The man in the white mask was looking at him and then winks.

Bruce’s eyebrows crease in confusion and then without warning his mouth dries and a nervous jitter erupts in his stomach, he gulps. _Oh, no._

The man in the white mask gently walks through the crowd and onto the stage.

Both men begin to remove their masks and unveil their faces.

When the Valeska’s removed their masks, people applaud. However, Mr. Wayne and Ms. Quinzel stood motionless with panic brewing in their chests.

Bruce was unquestionably embarrassed, and he appreciated the mask he wore as it covered the blazing redness on his cheeks. He quickly tries to think back to their conversation on the balcony. Hoping he wasn’t perceived as an impudent fool. But, it was too late the dance itself was enough.

“I present to you the Valeska twins!” said the maestro. “Jerome”, he waved his arms to indicate the man with ginger hair and a red tailcoat with his jester mask in hand. The corners of his mouth curled up into a wide smile and then he bowed. “And Jeremiah Valeska” lastly, the maestro moves his arms to present the man in white, holding the ceramic _Volto_ mask in hand.

Jerome steps up, “Thank you all for attending! My brother and I are proud that you all have welcomed us to your grand home- Gotham. It is a wonderful night to celebrate our arrival… and the dead,” he announced, with a wide evil grin. “You all look beautiful tonight, good enough to eat. Happy Halloween!” he laughed.

Jeremiah’s mouth twisted into a crooked smile, eyes flash towards his brother.

As they walked off the stage a swarm of people, especially women approached the twins to introduce themselves. While others looked at Bruce with envious eyes. From afar Bruce could see Oswald’s and Edward’s reaction. Their mouths were wide open, which made Bruce even more anxious.

Bruce wanted very much to escape at that moment, but something kept him anchored. From afar Jeremiah gives Bruce a look as if to say _don’t you dare move_.

After a few minutes, Jeremiah was finally left alone and approached Bruce.

Bruce takes a deep breath and straightens himself. He extends his hand, “Mr. Valeska, I am Bruce Wayne, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he greeted, expression formal and his voice deep and strong. He thought that at this point it’ll only be appropriate to introduce himself.

“Pleasure’s all mine”, Jeremiah gushed his grin wide. “Don’t change on me, Mr. Wayne. Especially, now that you are aware my brother and I are owners of this establishment. We had such a pleasant time together,” his eyes looking into the others seductively.

Jeremiah Valeska is exceptionally and other-worldly handsome. His porcelain skin appeared smooth and unscathed, no markings or blemish of any kind. The sharpness from his jaws and cheeks appeared chiseled to perfection. His ebony hair sleek with a hint of dark green. But, what focused Bruce’s attention the most was his almond-shaped silver colored eyes and his bright red full lips.

Throughout the night Bruce was sensing something strange from this man and from all the entertainers but, he ignored it because he didn’t want it to be true. Unfortunately, now looking upon the man’s visage it is quite evident that he is not human.

“You tricked me,” Bruce admitted, a smile lingering on his lips and trying his best to look away from the other’s red lips.

Jeremiah chuckles. “It was one of the reasons we hosted this event. My brother and I believe that if a person is depersonalized hence, the masks, you can observe someone’s true nature,” he explained. Then he lowers his voice and scans the room, “In other words, we can differentiate between the trustworthy and the fake.”

“A test,” Bruce nods, impressed. Then keenly asks almost desperately, “Well, did I pass?”

Jeremiah gives a crooked smile and then leans into Bruce’s ear.

The sound from people chatting and from the music faded into the background. The only audible and clear sound that entered Bruce’s ear and to his psyche was the velvety words, “With flying colors.”

Lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary, Jeremiah felt a sudden urge to stroke his lips over Bruce’s ear and jawline. The blood fragrance was sweet, almost too sweet to resist. He pulls away quickly, “Excuse me.”

Bruce catches his breath as Jeremiah swiftly walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooo Jeremiah was about to ruin the ball by taking a bite hehe he had to quickly leave.  
> Bruce and Jeremiah are only going to get closer (<3333)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this far!!


	3. Dinner with The Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce searches for Jeremiah at the ball.  
> When he gets back home he does some research, curious to know what the feeling he experiences with Jeremiah is about.  
> Later that night he gets invited to dinner.

After a long time of talking and drinking with friends, Bruce’s mind drifts elsewhere. He searches the crowds for Jeremiah, but he’s nowhere in sight. Negative thoughts begin to flood his mind. _Was it something I did or said?_ _Was he just being hospitable? Either way, if he truly is a creature of the night I can’t be with him._ He shakes the thoughts out of his head and decides to excuse himself and leave the ball.

As he plods alone down the empty hallway of exotic statues, he heard a light footstep behind him. He stops and slowly turns around. It was a man but, it wasn’t Jeremiah. It was one of the harlequin entertainers.

Bruce’s brows creased, eyes squint, as he studies the man carefully. The whites around the man’s eyes were bloodshot and he heard a low growl coming from behind the mask. 

Being that he is a hunter and the creature is probably unaware of it. It is unfortunate for the creature that from all the choices of human flesh he had to feed on tonight, he just so happened to come across a hunter. 

Bruce gently reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small glass orb filled with clear liquid. All he must do is break this orb on any creature’s skin and it will burn them for weeks. The acidic contents will make them itch and screech in agony for hours. As a hunter, one must always be prepared. Bruce’s eyes read, “Come at me, I dare you.”

Suddenly, another body appears from behind the creature.

“Gio, _tsk_ _tsk_ ,” Jeremiah chided in a soft voice, slighting shaking his head. “Se lo tocchi, ti ucciderò. Va via,” he threatened. He glares at the creature, jaws tightened.

Bruce didn’t comprehend what he said in Italian, but it was enough to make the creature rush away in fear. Exhaling he shoves the orb back into his pocket.

Jeremiah notices the orb but, decides it isn’t the time or place to discuss it. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, relaxing his face.

“It’s rather late”, Bruce replied. He is delighted to see Jeremiah one last time before leaving before he could continue to romanticize their meeting.

Jeremiah snorts, “For my kind, the night is still young.” He takes delicate steps towards the young man.

Bruce instinctively steps back against the marble wall in between two statues.

Jeremiah leans over the other, hand against the wall. As he lifts his other hand to stroke Bruce’s face he stops midway. Instead, he reaches the back of Bruce’s head and grabs one string of ribbon from the black mask.

Bruce’s pulse begins to race again. He didn’t know what to say or do. His eyes shifting from the man’s attentive silver gaze to his full blood red lips.

Twirling his finger around the ribbon, Jeremiah sensually whispers, “I want to see your face,” and then tugs.

The black mask slides off, Bruce grabs it. Eyelashes flutter up, studying the other’s reaction.

Jeremiah’s eyes soften and spark with admiration as they gawk at the young man’s blushing pink cheeks. His smile widens, exposing his subtle but sharp canines. He couldn’t look away from the young handsome face. He could hear Bruce’s heart beating loud and fast. The sound vibrating in his own veins.

The thirst creeps up his throat. The _bloody_ thirst. The burning and suffocating sensation of damnation.

His eyes now staring at flushed pink lips, causing him to bite his own bottom lip. He takes a firm grip to Bruce’s neck.

“Jeremiah,” Bruce murmurs, with pleading eyes. He could reach for the orb but, he doesn’t want to hurt him, a part of him couldn’t even if he wanted to.

Jeremiah blinks a few times, the voice bringing him back to the present moment. Bruce’s precious face now etched with worry and tension. He lets the young man go in shame and steps back. “Go, now.”

Bruce was going to say something, but he felt it was best if he left. Things were already immensely complicated. As he briskly walks down the hallway to the double door entrance of the mansion, he takes a quick second to look back.

Jeremiah was gone.

* * *

 

 

Bruce woke up the following morning with an eagerness to research what he had experienced at the Masquerade ball with the man in the white mask- Jeremiah.

From the man’s porcelain and translucent skin to his sharp silvery gaze, his sharp canines, and to the mystical energy that radiated from his being, was conclusive enough to say that Jeremiah Valeska is a _vampire_.

As well as his brother and all the harlequin entertainers and musicians.

The Wayne study has a range of old books and manuscripts that Thomas and Martha have collected over the years about the supernatural phenomenon. Bruce sits at his mahogany wood desk, tapping his foot impatiently, as he skims through a few leather-bound books on vampirism.

Alfred saunters into the study with a tray in his hand. “Master Bruce, your tea and biscuits.” He settled the tray on the desk. “How’s the research going? Will you notify the hunter’s society?” he asked.

Bruce doesn’t look up from the pages, “Uh, no. I am sure they are aware of the Valeska’s already.” He slides his fingers through the letters and reads quietly to himself. After a few seconds, he leans back onto the chair sighing heavily and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Most vampires have the power to compel or glamour humans, but, that’s **not** what I felt from him and that’s all I am getting from these books,” he exasperated.

“How are you sure he didn’t compel or glamour you? Usually, the victim’s blackout,” Alfred mentioned.

“Exactly, I remember the entire night. No gaps. His ability is much more potent. It was as if he was communicating directly to my soul,” Bruce recalled. His eyes falling into a dreamlike state as he sees Jeremiah’s face in his mind’s eye.

Alfred’s eyebrows furrow in curiosity.

Bruce lightly shakes his head and blinks a few times to escape the trance. He sighs with frustration, “It’s hard to explain. I need to see him again before I could present any of this information to the other hunters.”

“Well, you will have your chance tonight,” said Alfred. He grabs the telegram from the tray. “He is requesting a private dinner with you.”

* * *

 

 

 The dining hall in the Valeska’s mansion was dark. Only a few golden antique sconces on the crimson and gold floral walls and candelabras on the table provided dim lighting.

Bruce sat on one end of the extra-long vintage oak dining table, while Jeremiah sat on the opposite end. The only sound echoing across the room was from the tapping of Bruce’s knife and fork on the silver plate. 

The steak was cooked too rare for his taste, nonetheless, he appreciates the attempt. The bloody fluid settling on the edges of the plate. Scarlet red resembling Jeremiah’s satin necktie and vest underneath his black dinner jacket. From afar he could see Jeremiah dining on an empty plate and occasionally taking sips from the silver chalice. _Wine or blood?_ He thought.

“Pardon my brother and Ms. Quinzel for not joining us to dinner,” said Jeremiah, his smooth voice echoed, breaking the eerie silence. “Apparently, they have much more interesting things to do”, he jeered.

Bruce puts his knife and fork down on the plate. He didn’t ponder this before. About Ms. Quinzel’s safety. Jerome and Harley seemed to have had a pleasant time at the ball. What if he has already bitten her? What if, at this very moment he is seducing her and drinking her blood?

Jeremiah’s eyes rolled, and mouth pursed. “Just his type,” he added.

_Young, slender, blonde, and beautiful. How typical,_ Bruce thought.

“No, more so vulnerable, helpless, and weak. My brother is sadistic,” Jeremiah corrected.

Bruce lifts his eyes from his plate to across the table. Stomach flips nervously. Did Jeremiah read his mind? His mind then wonders if she is his type too.

“Not my type, though,” he clarified. Flashing a crooked smile to the young man.

“Oh?” was all Bruce managed to say. He felt naked, exposed. He takes his chalice and gulps down some red wine. Hoping that it will soon relieve the tension building up in his shoulders.

Now, Jeremiah believes it is the appropriate occasion to discuss the obvious problem at hand. He leans forward placing his elbows on the table and folds his fingers together. Eyes watching Bruce intently over his interlaced hands. “So, you are a hunter,” he began. Bruce is not only human but, a hunter. Making the situation between them more complicated.

“And you are a vampire,” Bruce added. Curious to know how this conversation would end. What’s the compromise?

“You are the first I’ve met in this city. There aren’t many of you.”

“We must be unnoticeable. The people of Gotham cannot know about us as long as they cannot know about you.”

“Naturally.” Jeremiah inhales and then exhales sharply as he leans back in his chair, “Now what? What are the terms?” he asked. He lifts the chalice to his lips but, his eyes remain on Bruce.

“Well, you live your life as discreet as possible. Avoid mass disturbances. But, most importantly, you must abstain from drinking human blood.”

Jeremiah bursts into laughter, the sound vibrating across walls.

Bruce’s brows snap together, he leans back, arms crossed. He is not amused, rather offended by the other’s teasing response. “Do not underestimate me,” he glared. “I have my ways of finding out if you’ve bleed someone or not. Do not doubt me, I will hunt you down.”

“Oh…I don’t doubt you,” Jeremiah’s smile remains steady. “I can see that fascinating strength in your eyes.”

Bruce’s eyes soften.

After a moment of silence, Jeremiah’s lips turn down into a line, “Nonetheless, forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend. I suppose this explains why the city has rarely any vampires.”

They fall back into an awkward silence.

Bruce continues to eat. Taking in a few roasted potatoes into his mouth.

Suddenly, he felt two hands sliding gently up his thighs underneath the table.

Stunned by the sensation he peaks down, past his indigo necktie and vest, to his lap. Two pale hands were rubbing his inner thighs over his black trousers. He bites back a moan. The hands move up towards the center, close enough to touch his member.

He jumps in his seat and gasps. The utensils clatter over the silver plate. Eyes flash across the table.

Jeremiah’s lips curl at one corner into a crooked smile. He chuckles as he takes another sip from his chalice.

Was it mind manipulation? Another trick? Or did it happen so fast his human mind couldn’t register it fully? He peaks back down to his lap and the hands were gone. Bruce rubs his forehead, feeling nauseous he pushes his plate away.

“Is the food not to your satisfaction?”, Jeremiah asked, concerned.

Bruce clears his throat, “I just no longer have the appetite,” he retorted. He leans back on the chair and stares at the other through the flickering flames of the candelabras.

Jeremiah lifts an eyebrow, “Well, then.” He stands up pushing the oak chair back and treads over to Bruce’s end while gliding his delicate ghost-like fingers on the table.

Dark eyes watch those ghost-like fingers, the same fingers that were touching him sensually a moment ago. Then they dart up into silver eyes intensely. The hand glides from the table up his arm and settles on his shoulder.

Jeremiah’s velvet voice whispers into his ear, grip tightens, “Come, I want to show you something.”

When Jeremiah released his grip and treaded out of the dining room, Bruce exhaled then stood up and walked after him.

Bruce knew deep in his soul that what was coming for him tonight was unlike any other night he’s had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Jeremiah said in Italian to the creature was "If you touch him, I'll end you. Now go." (heart eyes, so protective!!) Love at first sight!  
> It becomes a romantic night and Bruce can feel it coming. <333


	4. A Rose for A Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The romantic night continues, Jeremiah leads Bruce to the garden and the horse's paddock.  
> They enjoy a moonlight ride.  
> And then...  
> A kiss. <3

Outside the gothic mansion, Bruce and Jeremiah step down a stony path heading towards the garden and the horse’s paddock.

Bruce stops right in front of a stone archway ornamented with red rose buds and vines. It was the entryway to the garden. From a distance, Bruce could see a large tiered stone water fountain, a few ponds, and a massive array of flowers. Even in the dark, the garden was enchanting. The white light of the moon touching the water and creating starlight sparkles. Glowing through the garden, highlighting varies carnations and dark green foliage. 

Jeremiah stops in his tracks, noticing Bruce had stopped, he turns. Sadness clouds the young man’s features.

“When I was a child, my mother and I use to spend hours in the garden at home. We would lay on linen sheets and indulge in fruity delights. Lie side by side and watch the clouds pass by. She would recite stories about the creatures of the night,” he reminisced, his voice soft and weary. “Other times we’d play hide and seek.”

Memories of his mother chasing him through the garden and around the rose bushes under the bright yellow hues of the sun flood into his mind. Bruce’s eyes glisten, “At times it was hard for her to find me because I hid so well and quietly,” he chuckles, as a tear drips down his cheek.

“She taught me that beauty was within. That even the most terrifying creatures may have tender hearts. She believed in peace and harmony for all creatures,” he recollected. He remembers fearing spiders in the garden, but mother would take those that weren’t venomous and place it on his arms or shoulders. _See?_ She would say smiling widely.

“Memories…,” Jeremiah sighed. He walks over to the rose bush by the archway and caresses the petals. “Cherish the enjoyable ones because good memories are the only things worth holding on to.”

Bruce curiously asks, “Do you recall anything from your human life?”

Jeremiah finds the perfect blossoming red rose and bends the stem in half to break it apart from the bush. “I remember everything,” his voice barely audible. He turns and slowly treads to Bruce with the rose in hand. He takes the rose and displays it inside Bruce’s front coat pocket. His lips curl, “For you, a token of my affection.”

The air was quickly replaced with sweetness. The bright red rose in Bruce’s pocket sent a pleasant chill to his back, his stomach flips. It’s a romantic gesture, a pure representation of true beauty and love. His eyes softly gaze into Jeremiah’s moonlight eyes then to his rose red lips.

At this moment, he wants nothing more than to caress those lips with his own. Despite the consequences. But at the same time, it was hard for Bruce to fathom that a vampire could feel anything other than the thirst for blood and power.

According to his research, a vampire to feel love is at the far end of the spectrum. They are known for their seductive manipulations but, that’s all it is. It’s not real. But, it was like what his mother once said, _even the most terrifying creatures are capable of love_. Regardless of Jeremiah’s affection, one thing is certain and that is Bruce’s affection. He could feel himself falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of this creature’s grasp.

“Come,” Jeremiah turns around and heads towards the horse’s paddock.

Bruce takes one last look at the garden and then treads along.

Two horses were cantering around the field under the moonlight. One of the horse’s mane and coat was a full shiny black, as for the other a full dominant white.

Jeremiah didn’t have to do much, he simply walked towards the horse’s direction, eyes narrow, and forehead creased, in full concentration. On command, the horses ceased playing and then galloped to him.

_Fascinating_ , Bruce thought. He is aware that vampires have unique abilities but, there is something about Jeremiah that is much more interesting than any other creature he has ever read about or met.

The white horse trots playfully around Bruce. When the horse stops, he pets her gently, rubbing her coat and running his fingers through her mane. “She’s beautiful,” he marveled.

“Ah, Persephone is fond of you,” Jeremiah beamed. “She’s rather small for her kind but, she’s wicked fast.”

Bruce scratches underneath the horse’s chin and rests his face close to the muzzle, “Brilliant.” Then his eyes dart at the black horse Jeremiah was mounting on. “What about him?”

“Well, I originally named him Hades. But, he’s a stubborn brute. He doesn’t like to be named,” he said while ruffling his horse’s black mane.

Bruce laughs. “I assume you could hear thoughts?”

“Not necessarily, more so thought forms. I can see images of thoughts and I can feel other’s emotions through some sort of vibrational connection. It’s rather complicated to describe it thoroughly,” Jeremiah explained.

“Hmm”, he ponders. Bruce is eager to learn more about the mysteries of vampirism. The hunter’s society would have a ball with this useful information.

The horses were already geared up with their bridle and saddle for tonight’s ride. He quickly takes hold of the bridle and swings his legs over the horse. “Where to?”

Jeremiah points his finger down the moors, “To the edge of the woods.”

“Race you!” Bruce shouts as he takes a head start.

Jeremiah laughs, “Cheater”, and quickly gallops with his black horse behind Persephone.

The night sky was a gorgeous inky noir and the full moons white light shined down creating a white trail on the moors from behind the woods. It’s been a while since Bruce rode on horseback. As he rode as fast as he could, as fast as Persephone would allow, he felt an adrenaline rush.

Memories of riding with his father flash through his vision. He closes his eyes allowing the wind to hit his face and flow through his hair.

Father taught Bruce to never fear the creatures of the night. _Confront your fears, my son_ , he’d say. _You must confront those fears that are holding you down and preventing you from reaching your full potential._ _The more fear you show, the more power you give it._

Bruce smiles, he misses this. He has been out of touch with the simple pleasures of life because they remind him of his parents. This moment was forthcoming, he needed to reignite the fire within him. Honor his parents’ wishes and continue to fight for their dreams and his.

He felt as if he was flying in the wind. He rode hard and fast, allowing the tears to escape.

After the emotional release he felt better, he opens his eyes. The woods are close and so he pulls on the leather reins of the bridle to bring the horse into a halt. He turns Persephone and sees that Jeremiah had kept up close behind.

“That was hardly fair,” Jeremiah whined, as he approaches Bruce with his black beauty. “You have the fastest horse and you had a head start, tsk tsk,” he jested, shaking his head. “How is she?”

“She’s incredible. It felt as if I was riding her my whole life,” Bruce panted.

“Then she’s yours,” Jeremiah beamed, as he dismounts from the horse and treads to Persephone’s flank. 

Bruce’s jaw slightly drops in surprise. “What? No, I can’t. That is much too generous.”

“She’ll be here for you. You may ride her whenever you please. We will ride again, won’t we?” Jeremiah didn’t mean to overwhelm Bruce. There is an eagerness inside him to please the young man.

“Yes, I’d love that,” Bruce exhaled, relaxing his face in the process. “By the way, thank you. I needed that,” he added, gratitude flowing inside him forming a warm sensation in his chest.

Jeremiah looks up over his lashes and offers his hand to help Bruce down from the white horse, “I know,” he agreed, smiling. After Bruce dismounts, he keeps holding the young man’s hand and then rubs the back of the hand with his thumb. Bodies close and eyes never leaving the other. Then he leads Bruce to the edge of the woods. “I brought you here because I thought it would be safe. Away from the others at the mansion.”

Bruce’s eyes flash to the mansion across the moors, dimly lit in the distance. Then it dawned on him.

The vampire wants a taste.

Jeremiah slowly steps out of the shadows pressing Bruce gently against a tree trunk. Moonlight filtering through the branches and leaves above illuminating their faces. The surrounding darkness soothing and sexually inviting.

“Bruce…,” he breathes. “What if I had your consent? Permission to drink your blood?” The scent of Bruce’s blood, the sweetness of honeysuckles and amber aromas causes a burning and lustful sensation in his throat.

“I- eh…,” Bruce didn’t know how to respond. The thought of someone willing to give their blood to a vampire is ridiculous and suicidal. However, now that Bruce is being put in that position he can understand why it’s possible. The thought of Jeremiah drinking his blood arouses him. Body yearning for those dark red luscious lips to ravish him.

He nods. Now breathing in the woodsy coolness of the night, blended with the sensual and mysteriously irresistible aura of Jeremiah.

Jeremiah leans forward and gently strokes his lips against Bruce’s into a soft kiss. He drops one hand from the trunk to stroke the other’s cheek with his thumb.

Lips brush and enfold onto one another. Coming together in a slow and electrifying rhythm.

This kiss.

His lips.

Each touch.

All exhilarating to Bruce, bringing him back to life.

Bruce’s self-control quickly short-circuits. He pushes his tongue inside and contacts the other. In a desperate attempt to further immerse himself. Hands spread over the other’s chest, gripping and pulling on the scarlet vest.

Consequently, Jeremiah moans softly, roused by the other’s reaction. He lowers his hand to Bruce’s hip, pulling his body closer and tightly. His other hand on the back of dark brown hair, pulling to deepen the kiss.

Jeremiah couldn’t contain himself any longer and so he bites Bruce’s bottom lip hard. Canines creating two punctured wounds in the interior lining of the bottom lip. Beads of blood drip down the corners of Bruce’s mouth.

Bruce whimpers. It was slightly painful, like a sting or two. But, the sensation that followed was levitating. He wraps his arms around the other’s neck. Allowing Jeremiah to take control. Wanting more from this sense of free falling, he was dizzy for it.

The sweet blood drops absorb into Jeremiah’s tongue. He hums in pure satisfaction as he sucks Bruce’s lips. The monster inside him wants to tear through the young man’s clothes and feed. However, the man inside him, the last link to his humanity, wants to take Bruce to his bedroom and make passionate love. Never letting him go.

Never.

Which side would take over?

Bruce pulls back for a moment to take a breath. “What are you doing to me?” he asks breathlessly.

Jeremiah refusing to let go continues to trace his lips and press kisses underneath Bruce’s jawline. Longing to pull down the indigo necktie and take a bite. “Mmm…”, he hums. Nose edges across smooth skin. He pulls back, eyes soft, “That feeling. It is the divine connection between us,” he whispers. His lips ghost over Bruce’s bloody lips, “Do you enjoy the way I touch you?”

Bruce’s hands move from the man’s jacket collar up, to rake his fingers through the back of ebony hair. Dark eyes gaze at moonlight eyes with pure admiration. The corners of his mouth curve, he whispers against the other’s lips, “There’s no other touch I want more.”

As Jeremiah was about to fervently kiss Bruce again, he suddenly stops. His body tenses, his attention elsewhere. He looks behind him into the dark woods.

Before Bruce can ask what is wrong. He hears it too.

In a short distance, there’s the unnerving sound of rustling leaves and branches.

Jeremiah turns his body around completely covering Bruce behind him. Forehead creases, eyes scanning the woods.

Even though Bruce was still mildly dizzy from kissing he then remembered. “The werewolves.” Ashamed of himself for not realizing it before. He places a hand on Jeremiah’s shoulder as if to stop the other from doing something, “This is their territory.”

Unfortunately, Jeremiah’s arousal was quickly overshadowed by his survival instinct. It was vital to protect himself but, most importantly his Bruce.

A low growl releases from Jeremiah’s lips forming chills to the back of Bruce’s neck. He is so caught up in this man that he continues to forget that Jeremiah’s a vampire, a dangerous predator.

“I know, I didn’t think they’d mind us being so close to the edge. There’s six of them to be exact and they’re certainly not happy with what I am doing to you,” he said. He turns his head to Bruce with a raised eyebrow and a twisted smile.

 The woods nearby Gotham city belong to the werewolves. There was a time when they were allowed in the city but in recent years their numbers have grown and their appetites along with it. Many innocent people died in the hands of these monsters. Consequently, they were banished to the woods by the city’s elites and hunters. Bounded by a magical enchantment created by Selina the witch.

“Let’s go back to the mansion,” he takes Bruce by the hand and leads him out of the woods.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That kiss has Bruce all flustered! hehe  
> OH, the nights not over yet.
> 
> Symbolism: The first night they met, Bruce was wearing all black and Jeremiah was wearing all white. Tonight, they rode on horses of the opposite colors. To me, it symbolizes the "yin and yang" of their relationship. They are soulmates. What one lacks the other has. They are each others missing half.  
> In every AU (at least in my world, college AU & soulmates AU), their relationship is always going to be complicated. They are put in situations in which they have to go against each other. (very Batman/Joker)  
> But, for me, love always conquers and stand the test of time. That's why in every AU they find each other and fall in love, cause they are meant to be.
> 
> Song for this chap.> Philip Wesley- Dark night of the soul
> 
> If you are still reading, bless your heart and thank you! I hope you are enjoying xoxo


	5. An Ill-fated Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being interrupted by the werewolves, Jeremiah takes Bruce to the Valeska's library.

The Valeska’s library is massive, much larger than the Wayne manors study. The library has a second story wrap-around balcony, several Rococo style couches, and an oak wood writing desk. The fireplace ablaze creating a warm and cozy atmosphere. The soothing trace of vanilla candle wax and vintage books fills the air. The yellow flames from the chandelier above and candelabras on the side tables glow and dance on the wooden walls covered in books. From a distance, a piano plays a peaceful melody.

_There’s no other touch I want more._

It was foolish of him to have said those words. Now the vampire knows how dependent and weak he is in his presence.

For months, Bruce was in a dark hole. Emptiness and confusion dwelled inside. From the masquerade ball to the rose garden, to horse riding, to…the kiss. His foreign touch. Everything changed.

Ghostly fingertips on his skin, red lips on his lips, sparked something inside. Something where there was nothing.

So yes, there’s no other touch he wants more because there’s no other touch from anyone else that can reach deep inside and pull him out from his self-destruction.

But, he cannot tell him the truth about how he feels. Never show it.

_It’s a divine connection_ , the vampire had said. Bruce wonders.

“My parents would have been very impressed by your library,” he marveled. Not meeting Jeremiah’s eyes. Instead, he focuses his attention on the books, fingers brush over gold embossed letters and torn edges. A poor effort to distract himself with hopes that what happened in the woods doesn’t come up in conversation.

Jeremiah leans against the bookshelves, taking sips from his chalice ever so often. The vintage red wine does nothing for him but it’s enough to keep his mouth occupied. It has taken every inch of his mental strength to contain himself. His dark soul- the vampire, is now always hungry. However, not just for any mortal flesh but, for Bruce.

Only Bruce.

The corners of his mouth turn up as he gazes at the young man whose eyes were skimming through a first edition novel. “Are you implying that you would have liked me to meet your parents, Bruce?”

Bruce hangs his head shyly to hide his grin and shrugs. “They would have wanted to meet the new vampires in town regardless.” It’s hard for him not to blush sometimes.

After a moment, melancholy emanates from Bruce’s body. Jeremiah could feel it. He could sense the pain, the torment, and the anger. He wants nothing more than to take it all away. To see those dark juniper eyes squint and sparkle with joy. Lifted rosy cheeks and a bright smile. He was a bit hesitant to ask, hoping it wasn’t one of his kind. He did anyway. “What killed them?”

“It wasn’t a vampire or werewolf. It was an unknown creature. The wounds couldn’t be identified,” Bruce responded. He remembers that night vividly. A nightmare. It was the night his life force was pulled out of his chest and replaced with something else.

Something dark.

That feeling was coming again. He needs to touch Jeremiah. When his eyes finally avert from the books, he notices a change in the other’s expression, and so he asks, “What is it?”

Trouble etched across Jeremiah’s face, eyes round and distant. “It’s nothing,” he retorts. He thought it would be best not to propose any theories without more information or further stress the young man. “More wine?”

Bruce looks down at his chalice, there’s a bit of the dark red sweet liquid left. The wine was unlike any he has ever tasted, maybe because it’s over a hundred years old. He does not trust himself when he overindulges. He must try and keep his wits about him, especially with the vampire. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Jeremiah chuckles and then strokes the young man’s cheek. The hand slides to the back of the neck and pulls in close. “Do you want me to seduce you?” He asked earnestly. Bruce’s eyes passionately sparkle. Brown feathery lashes flutter up at him. The smell of sweet blood, red wine, and pheromones were intoxicating. _Hmm_ , _Bruce_ … he thought.

The candles yellow glow wash over the vampire’s translucent skin making him appear almost human. Bruce curiously asks, “How old are you?”

Brows crease, the question caught him off guard. He whispers over the young man’s lips, “Twenty-four.”

After a moment of silence, Jeremiah’s mouth stretches into a smile.

Bruce snorts in a burst of chuckles. Hands cling on the man’s blazer, forehead to chest, as his body shakes with laughter. He’s usually not one to laugh, however, the wine’s loosening effects were working and being in the man’s presences was comforting.

Jeremiah laughs then takes a hold of Bruce’s chin and lifts it close to his face, he murmurs, “It brings me joy to see you this way.”

“For me as well.”

The vampire steals another kiss. Yet, the hunter allows it.

There’s something about Jeremiah that is interesting. The way his static silver eyes over his perfect face follow Bruce’s every move. Identical to a predator stalking its prey. Ever watchful. How that very stare crawls underneath his skin and form waves of chill over his body. The sensation he felt the night they met.

Odd because he is the hunter, not the hunted.

Be that as it may, ever so often there’s a crack in that expression. When his red lips curl into a smile, followed by energetic laughter and eyes crinkling. No longer a monster. That chilly sensation makes its way to Bruce’s chest and converts into warmth.

Reminding Bruce that he is safe.

He always has been and always will.

Nonetheless, the last kiss and this one is a foolish act. It was easy to be free in the dark, or behind a mask.

Bruce’s body quickly tenses and then he pulls away from the kiss. The kiss that sent pleasant tingles to his mouth and the wound. He gives the man the chalice, “No more, thank you.” He turns away and paces around the room to admire the architecture and decor. “I’m curious. All vampires I’ve researched and met appear to have different reactions to sunlight. What about you?”

Jeremiah places the chalices on an oak stand. “Well, sunlight is an irritant. I shield myself as best as I can when I walk during the day. It will not kill me if that’s what you are referencing to.” He settles onto the couch near the fireplace. Crosses his legs and folds his hands over his knees as he watches Bruce.

“So, you can walk during the day and night. Do you sleep?” Bruce knows the answer to all these questions. He merely asks as a distraction. However, the only thing that he doesn’t quite fathom is the connection they share.

“Yes, my circadian rhythm works differently from yours. I can sleep at any time and for as long as I please, but it will not deplete my energy. My energy derives from blood, not from sleep. Though, I am sure you already know that.”

“Hmm.” Bruce stands by the fireplace allowing the warmth to seep through his clothes and face. He watches the flames flicker. “How about coffins?” When Jeremiah did not answer immediately, he turned to face him. “So, you do have one, may I see it?” He keenly asked.

“No,” Jeremiah growled. He leans back on the couch and sighs. “It’s from my human life.  Within it, I have some remnants from those fragile times.”

Bruce’s face softens. He slowly makes his way to sit next to Jeremiah on the couch.

“It’s convenient for traveling, however, my bother and I keep it for sentimental reasons. But, to clarify, I sleep on a bed,” he explained, with a nervous giggle.

“Do you and Jerome miss your home?”

“Well, before we turned, we were theater entertainers, constantly traveling. So, we didn’t belong anywhere,” he responded. Jeremiah notices Bruce’s eyes watching the flames, but they were distant. “I assume you are questioning me to enlighten the other hunters. Or…” He scoots closer to the young man. “As a distraction.”

“Do you really have to assume?” Aware that the vampire can read thought forms.

His grin widens.

Bruce shakes his head. “Both.”

“To defeat me and to keep yourself from getting too close,” Jeremiah jeered.

“No, to better defend ourselves and the people of this city,” Bruce corrected.

After a moment of silence, Bruce couldn’t hold it any longer. “You know…It’ll never work out between us,” he grumbled, lips trembling. Surprised to hear his own voice break after those few words. Staring down at his hands fidgeting. It is a sad and tragic truth. The inevitable truth about mortality versus immortality.

“What makes you so sure?” Jeremiah’s tone did not change.

“Because I have lost almost everything precious to me by the same monsters they wanted to protect this city from. The night my parents died, I wanted to leave this cursed city behind, let it be overrun by the demons and monsters. I felt tainted by the anger and the pain.”

“So, you refuse to allow people into your life as of late to avoid hurting or losing them?”

Bruce nods.

“Hmm, well I am not going anywhere,” Jeremiah assured.

_I don’t want you to_ , Bruce thought. The words too much for him to pronounce.

The vampire smirks to confirm he received the mental message.

Jeremiah leans in close and clasps his cold pale hands over Bruce’s trembling ones. “Bruce, as a vampire my soul is a dark void filled with nothingness. I am damned and will forever be surrounded in darkness. I was turned against my own will,” his silver eyes soften almost to a gray hue, his grip tightens around Bruce’s hands. “I too, have lost someone very precious to me from my human life.”

Suddenly, a tingling sensation sparks from Jeremiah’s hands through to Bruce’s. The same vehement feeling from when they first met. Bruce’s brows come together as his eyes shift from his hands to Jeremiah’s penetrating stare.

Jeremiah continues, “But you, Oh…you. Beneath the disorder and pain, the darkness you so speak, there lies the real you. A pure white iridescent light, a beautiful soul. I can see it. I can feel it. It’s addicting.” Eyes moving to Bruce’s chest. Contemplates about how quickly he can remove the waistcoat, indigo vest, and tie before he could be rejected. He swallows the hunger harshly, takes a deep breath and refocuses his vision on dark green eyes. “Your parents did not die in vain Bruce, they left a legacy behind. You,” he finished, leaning back against the floral cushion.

Bruce smiles weakly, taking in the words. He pulls out his father’s gold pocket watch from his indigo vest. His thumb rubs over the engraving inside.

_To my one and only, love Martha_

It is half-past ten o’clock.

“I should go,” said Bruce.

Jeremiah sighs and then promptly stands, “Very well.”

Bruce was hoping Jeremiah would beg him to stay longer, but he didn’t. Instead, he made his way hastily to the door. Hesitant to leave, Bruce wanted to end the night with a few good words, “Well then, it was a very pleasant evening, thank you,” he said as they walked out of the library.

Jeremiah chuckles, “Oh, the evenings not over yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The night is most certainly NOT over. Ok get ready cause the next chapter gets smutty and romantic (wink* blush) <3333


	6. A Romantically Bloody Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah pays Bruce a surprise visit in the middle of the night ;D (wink*)(this chap. has smut)

On that same electrifying evening, Bruce tosses and turns restlessly in bed. Eyes shift to the nightstand. Next to the flaming candle, in a glass of water, holds the blossoming red rose from the enchanted garden.

_A token of my affection._

Mind swarming with images, from the man’s porcelain skin glowing in the moonlight to his twisted red smile.

All from the mysterious vampire, Jeremiah Valeska.

He slides his hand down his chest under the silk white bedsheet and over his clothed hard length. “ _Jeremiah_ ,” he murmurs, massaging gently. Eyelids growing heavy as they close. Bites over the wounds of his lower lip to allow the feeling to return. To remember those red luscious lips on his.

Suddenly, he felt two hands move from his knees to his inner thighs spreading his legs apart. His mouth slightly opens to release a whimper.

A body rises from underneath the sheets. A pale hand glides up his nightshirt.

Bruce’s eyes flutter open then he gasps. Lifts his chest swiftly by his elbows, “Jeremiah?” he panted.

“Bruce,” Jeremiah purred, smiling seductively.

Startled to see this beautiful man in nightshirt and trousers, in his mansion, on his bed, and sitting in between his bended knees. The silk bed sheet scrunched up at the edge of the bed. “How did you…?”

“Shhh,” Jeremiah whispers. He traces a finger over Bruce’s lips then slides it down leisurely over his chin and neck. Then pauses over the deep neck-opening of his nightshirt. The orange and gold candlelight shimmer over the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Senses the drumming heartbeat pulse through his own palm. He continues to trace a finger down until he reaches the bulge in Bruce’s tight trousers. “ _Mmm_ , thinking of me I hope,” he teased.

_The night’s not over yet_ , he had said. He must have planned this.

Bruce nervously reacts by grabbing the man’s wrist. “W-Why are you here?”

“Isn’t obvious?” He raises an eyebrow. “Did you really think I was going to let you go so easily?” Jeremiah chuckles.

Bruce watches the light flicker over the man’s fixed hypnotic gaze.

Is he the devil or an angel?

They say the devil appears as a beautiful creature draped in all your deepest desires.

Deep in his soul, Bruce knew that Jeremiah was going to come for him. He knew he was in trouble the moment he laid his eyes on those silver ones. He felt it in his blood. He also knew that whatever this connection is between them might kill him, but he wants it… if it's _true_.

Surroundings fall into a blur with only the vampire in focus. Bruce loosens his grip, allowing his fingers to slip underneath Jeremiah’s nightshirt.

Jeremiah removes his shirt to reveal lean but, muscular shoulders, arms, and abdomen under ghostly pale skin. A perfect specimen of a man, or vampire. Resembling the exotic male statues in the Valeska’s mansion. Bruce spreads his hand over the man’s torso, fingers massaging over every curve and slope.

The young man’s tenderly curious touches send small shockwaves through his skin. Feeling somewhat lightheaded he crawls over Bruce and gently pushes him back onto the bed. Takes the nightshirt into his mouth and lifts to uncover his torso. Then traces his lips and peppers soft kisses over delicate flushed skin.

Bruce inhales sharply, breath hitches as he exhales. Caresses Jeremiah’s shoulders, then rakes through his hair. Toes curling as those red lips make its way up.

Jeremiah removes Bruce’s nightshirt and tosses it to the side. Encircles him into a complete and passionate embrace. His tongue fervently parts Bruce’s lips into a deep and hungry kiss. Grips down hard on Bruce’s thighs and then lifts his legs to hook them around his own waist.

They spread their hands over each other’s body. Chests rubbing and hips shoving. Simultaneously, their lips brush feverishly, and their tongues overlaying one another in a frantic need for a deeper connection.

As their hips roll together with lustful intensity, Bruce can feel Jeremiah’s hard member. The tingling impression of a blush fills his cheeks. Flattered that this beautiful creature is aroused and hard for him. His hands clasp over Jeremiah’s shoulder blades and pulls his body closer in. Hands slide down to the man’s lower back and under the trousers.

Sensing delicate hands on his backside, Jeremiah moans and then pulls back from the kiss. Famished silver eyes pierce into dilated eyes, “Darling, behave. Or I’ll bleed you dry,” he warned, voice tender. The monster within him- the vampire, is a tempestuous animal hard to tame. He would never forgive himself if he went too far.

Bruce scoffs, “No you won’t.” He gets close, foreheads touching. “I trust you,” he whispered over red lips. He sensually bites those lips. “I want you to do it,” he demanded. He relaxes his head on the pillow and exposes his neck. He could hear purrs now coming from the vampire.

The sound of Bruce’s pounding heartbeat and the flow of blood through his veins is music to his ears. The burning sensation creeping up his throat, the sweet blood is calling again, begging to be consumed.

Suddenly, sharp canines harshly bite down over Bruce’s jugular vein.

The pain from the bite was different this time. It sent shivers down Bruce’s shoulders and spine. Some of the tingling sensations spread up his cheeks. “ _Ahh_ ,” he cries out, tugging the back of ebony green hair.

Thick blood of honeysuckles, the nectar of the gods, flow into the vampire’s mouth. Down his throat quenching his thirst and warming his stomach. He wraps Bruce tightly taking him all in, purring against his smooth skin.

The sharp pain was quickly overwhelmed by ecstasy. His blood being pulled by Jeremiah’s lips was alleviating as if it sucked away all the pain. Eyelids are heavy as he moans softly.

Jeremiah wants to continue drinking but a part of him forces him to detach. He takes deep breaths. Thick and sticky crimson fluid drip from his lips and from Bruce’s neck onto the white fitted bedsheet and pillow, painting a disturbing contrast.

Bruce dazed in pleasure, whines, “ _No_ , don’t stop.” Digs his face into Jeremiah’s neck and bites on pale flesh with a desire to leave his own mark as well.

Amazed by the young man’s sudden and aggressive touch, he exhales a shaky moan. Moist soft lips kissing his neck and teeth nibbling its way up to his ear. Jeremiah swallows the blood lingering in his mouth and groans, “ _Ah_ , Bruce.”

Bruce was lost and now found. He is beginning to _feel_ again. Color splashing onto a black and white canvas. He takes Jeremiah’s face between his hands. “Please,” he begged.

A deep growl vibrates from the vampire’s throat. In an instant, Bruce’s body was pushed back onto the bed, arms pinned to the sides.

Jeremiah leans down takes a bite over the other side of Bruce’s neck. While drawing fluid from the flesh, he tears through Bruce’s trousers and hungrily tugs them off.

Pleasurable moans escape Bruce’s lips as his body is being roughly handled. His blushing cock dripping with precum.

Jeremiah turns Bruce around, chest face down, lifts his hips and shoves a pillow under his torso. Momentarily gets off the bed to remove his own trousers and grabs the lubricant in the nightstand drawer. Then he bends over Bruce’s body and traces kisses up his back. Teeth gently pulling fragile skin. Bruce’s body is tense and slightly unstable. He continued moving up, savoring every inch he could.  

“Give yourself to me, Bruce,” he insisted, lubricated fingers caressing and nipping Bruce’s backside.  

“I want to feel you from inside,” Jeremiah breathes, tickling Bruce’s ear and teasing his entrance.

Bruce gasps. “ _Ah_ , _yes_. I am yours,” he moans, bucking his hips. Words were spoken too quickly and with certainty. Bruce’s body soaked in pleasure, prickly and hot. Grips tightly fitted bedsheet splattered with blood. “I bleed only for you. I want you inside me,” he confessed, falling apart into a flustered mess. He is ready to serve and feed now.

Jeremiah was expecting to be in control of himself tonight but, he was also overly stimulated. Body melting over the young man and his length stiff and throbbing. He turns Bruce’s face and studies it. A face that is always solemn and gloomy is now flushed and vulnerable with eyes shiny and ablaze. Red lips sweetly kiss swollen pink lips.

This kiss held a new promise.

_I am his and he is mine._

Jeremiah’s lubricated fingers push into Bruce’s entrance and massage gently. As the other hand rakes through dark mocha curls, tugging lightly.

There is no going back from this. Bruce knew, and he didn’t care. Jeremiah made him glow from the inside out. “ _Deeper_ ,” he breathed.

Jeremiah beams admiring Bruce’s strength furthermore exciting him. With a frantic crave to ravish, he pulls his fingers out and thrusts his length inside.

Their passionate groans are profound and liberating.

It was painful at first but then the feeling of being filled by Jeremiah was exhilarating. Waves of heat vibrate up and down his thighs and dance inside his lower abdomen. With every thrust, his moans intensify. He tries to bite his bottom lip to keep his cries at bay, but, couldn’t. The energy flowing from the man, his ghostly electrifying strokes, and his body enveloping his own body like a blanket from behind, was overwhelming.

Jeremiah grips the young man’s hips tightly as he shoves his own back and forth. He curls his hand over Bruce’s. The gesture was kind as if to say, _we are in this together now. You have my heart as much as I have yours._

Bruce smiles warmly, his fingers twine with pale ones.

In an abrupt frenzy, Jeremiah’s fingers crush Bruce’s hand and the other clasps harshly over the front of his neck. Moans vibrate from Bruce’s throat through to his hand. He bites roughly over the flesh between Bruce’s neck and shoulder from behind. Warm crimson blood trail down Bruce’s back.

Delicious dense fluid. An aphrodisiac. The only sustenance he will ever need.

Jeremiah’s chest rubs up against Bruce’s back. His length pushing and hitting Bruce’s prostate. To avoid pulling out too far, his thrusts gradually become smaller the deeper he pushes inside. Deeper and deeper, so deep he sought to merge their bodies together.

Blend his dark soul with Bruce’s pure light and feed on his vitality.

He lets go of Bruce’s hand and clutches his chest tightly. Squeezing his body, almost suffocating him. All the while, humming and purring as he drank warm crimson blood.

Their legs coiled together, and bodies blended.

Bruce was falling into a daze, Jeremiah so deep inside him, so close. “ _Jeremiah_ ,” he cries out, voice hoarse and gasping for air. The desirable pain pulsating from all areas of his body.

Jeremiah senses his release coming soon. He turns Bruce onto his side and reaches down to the young man’s hard length and strokes.

Bruce’s droopy eyes look down. Ghostly long fingers wrap around his shaft. The sensation alarming him, he is not going to last much longer. He curses and moans the vampire's name as the heat rushes through his cock.

Jeremiah separates from Bruce’s flesh. Blood trickles down his lips and chin. He purrs possessively, “You are mine, Bruce.” Then releases inside Bruce with a loud groan.

Bruce cries out as he erupts over the bedsheet.

Bodies collapse on the bed.

Squinty dark green eyes fixate on the rose next to the sweating incandescent candle. Unsure if what he is seeing is in his mind or not. Bruce sees the rose bleed. Thick clots of scarlet blood dripping from the center of the rose down the pedals and onto the oak wood nightstand. Blood leaking out of the stem and swirling in the water.

His vision blurs as looming darkness overcomes him.

Darkness much like the storm he observed the other evening. But this was comforting and with it, he fell asleep.

Jeremiah rests his head over Bruce’s back, hearing his breathing and heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm. He peeks over Bruce’s shoulder and places a light kiss on his rosy cheeks.

He grabs the white bedsheet scrunched up at the end of the bed and wraps it around Bruce. He cradles him close in his arms as he slept and rests his chin on top of dark mocha curls.  

“I’ve been searching for you, for so long,” he whispered. He dreamt and waited for this moment. The moment he would find his true love- his _soulmate_ , again. Before long, he needs to inform Bruce about their unique connection.

Soon the sun will rise, but, he refuses to let go. Instead, he wants to carry Bruce in these bloodstained sheets home.

They broke all the rules tonight. What consequences shall wait for them when morning comes?

_“_ Come what may, I shall not allow anyone to take you from me,” Jeremiah promised.


	7. Eternal Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce wakes up to a horrified Alfred and terrifying news.  
> Miss Quinzel pays Bruce a visit and informs him about something that will change everything.

Daylight gleamed through sheer drapes and into the bedroom. Bruce’s eyelids flurry as the light settled over his lashes. His body was numb and heavy with relaxation. He laid motionlessly in bed thinking about last night’s events.

He licked his lips, hoping some of Jeremiah’s taste lingered. He smiled blushingly. A rousing passion danced in his chest as he nuzzled his head into the sheets next to him. The area still warm. He breathed in the sweet traces from his lover.

Bruce watched the sun’s rays’ shimmer between the floating particles in the air.

_Jeremiah,_ he thought, biting his lower lip _. What have you done to me?_

There is a gentle knock on the door.

“Master Bruce, I-,” Alfred sauntered into the bedroom then stops halfway, instantly horrorstruck.

“Bloody hell! What happened?!” He exclaimed. The color drained from his face at the sight.

Bruce peacefully turns his head around to see Alfred.

The young master is draped in bloodstained silk pearl bedsheets, with a sickly pale appearance and a disturbingly lazy smile. He reached over to touch his forehead. Bruce’s nauseous and perplexed expression unsettled him. He assumed Bruce was attacked in the middle of the night. Heat rose to his neck when he noticed the wounds. “Something must be done immediately!”

“No!” Bruce shouted, as loud as his vocal cords could. The fatigue and dizziness caused his body to sway. Droopy eyes searched Alfred, “I…I initiated it.”

Alfred blinks a few times. “Come again?”

Bruce exhaled shamefully shifting his gaze from his hands to his guardian. “I-I wanted him to.”

A silent wall forms between them for a moment.

Alfred was unsure about how to respond but, he broke the silence anyway. He cleared his throat as he sat next to Bruce on the bed, “Surely there’s an explanation for this reckless behavior.” His nose cringed at the sight of dry blood and vampire bites on the young man’s neckline. “Master Bruce, I’m aware of how much you’ve changed. You haven’t been yourself…,”

Bruce whines and then tilts his head to the side, sensing a lecture coming.

“… _nonetheless_ , need I remind you that vampires are  **not**  good company. They are persuasive and seductive in their methods.”

“No,” Bruce argued, shaking his head. “Alfred, Jeremiah is different.”

The man’s eyebrows knitted, studying Bruce incredulously. “I do not recall you having enough experience with vampires to make that distinction.”

Bruce rolled his eyes then shut them with frustration.

“But…,” He lifted his hands up to surrender, “By all means, please do explain yourself.” Allowing the young man, a chance to redeem himself.

Bruce fixates on the rose. No longer bleeding, instead, the pedals are wider apart, and its red hue brighter. “In his presence, I get a strange sense that I have known him my whole life, or that I’ve met him before. Every inch of my body, my blood, my soul, … reacts to him, beckons to him. When he moves, I move…,” his sight changes from the rose to Alfred’s apprehensive stare. “I can’t control it.”

Bruce continued, voice weary and weak, he gulped, “Alfred, I know who I am and how to distinguish myself from others. But, with him everything gets confusing. We somehow blend together to the point where I don’t know where he begins, and I end.”

Alfred covered his face with a hand, sighing heavily. To Alfred, it is plainly obvious that the vile monster used his vampiric charms to manipulate Bruce. He stood up from the bed and removed the rose from the glass of water from the nightstand.

“I- I think I am falling-,” suddenly a splash of water hits Bruce in the face. He gasped, mouth wide open. Some of the dry blood on his neck liquefies and drips down his slightly reddened chest. “What was that for?!” He shrieked.

“Are you awake now? Frankly, sir, I cannot tolerate to hear another word.” Alfred shook his head side to side as he glared at Bruce with disgust and shame. “The vampire took what he wanted. He bled you and left you weak.”

Bruce clenched his jaw. “I am perfectly well,” he snapped, raising his voice. “I am famished that’s all,” he added, wiping the water from his eyes.

Alfred scoffed, “You are so blindly infatuated with this creature you refuse to see what he’s done. It’s what vampires do, they take and take until they can’t take anymore.”

“I am aware of their capabilities, Alfred. As a hunter, it is my duty to protect Gotham from them. However, mother and father had also believed in empathy and harmony. To help  _all_  creatures!”

“Yes! And look where it got them!” Alfred yelled. He was out of line, but it was necessary.

They glowered at each other.

Bruce clasped his fists tightly around the sheets as his eyes glistened.

Alfred’s face alters, sadness clouding his features. “I will not live to see another Wayne fall at the hands of a supernatural creature. I will not allow it. I-I will not lose you too,” lips trembled on the last words.

As much as Bruce does not acknowledge it at times, Thomas and Martha were just as much a family to Alfred as they were to Bruce. Most importantly, he helped raise the young master. Bruce is a son to him and the only family he has left. Precious and young with so much potential. He will not permit someone else, especially a vampire, to come along and steal that light of his.  

Bruce’s face relaxed, he was too weak to carry on the conversation. Though his guardian’s words dawdled at the back of his mind.

“Now. Your afternoon attire had been laid out since yesterday,” Alfred said, grabbing black pants, a white-collar shirt, and a dark satin silver-grey vest on a nearby burgundy cushioned chaise. “A hot bath is ready as well.”

Silver… The color brought flashes of Jeremiah’s irises into Bruce’s mind.

“I expect you at the breakfast table in a jiffy, we have pressing matters to discuss.” And with those words, Alfred stomped out of the room.

The hollow ache of hunger throbbed in his throat in conjunction with a splitting headache. The pain from the wounds around his neck and the muscles of his lower body emerged. A hot bath would ease the discomfort.

Could it be true? Is Jeremiah manipulating him? Did the vampire use compelling charms to seduce him for some other purpose? His throat tightened as he forced the thought away from his mind.

* * *

 

 

Bruce was heading towards the breakfast room until he heard the doorbell ring. He adjusted his grey necktie and flattened his vest before he opened the door.

The individual who stood outside the door was very peculiar, compared to the average civilian in Gotham. His skin was ghostly transparent over the green and blue veins protruding from his face. He wore all-black apparel with pitch black round spectacles and held a black umbrella.

This must be one of the vampires living in the Valeska’s mansion.

“The Master requested that I bring you these,” he said, handing Bruce clean white Egyptian cotton bedsheets, a book, and a bottle of vitamin B-12 supplements. B-12 is an excellent source for replenishing one’s red blood cells. Exactly what Bruce needs.

“Eh, thank you.” He wanted to ask him how Jeremiah was doing and when he could see him again. But, he thought he would be best not to appear so persistent.  

The vampire smiled, flashing sharp canines. He bowed and then walked away.

Bruce settled the sheets on a table by the entryway for a moment. He examined the book, turns the black hardcover to read the title in golden imprinted letters,  _Homer’s Iliad First Edition_. The same book he skimmed through in the Valeska’s library. He ran his fingers along the border, over uneven old parchment paper. He lifted the books rim to his nose. He sniffed the sweet and musky compounds of old vintage books with a mix of vanilla candle wax. He smiled. Another first edition novel to add to his collection. But, this one is special. He plans to leave this one on his oak wood nightstand and press the beautiful red rose inside for safe keeping.

Bruce treads into the breakfast room.

Alfred placed a tray with eggs benedict and a pot of tea on a round wood table. “Oh, how considerate of him,” he remarked sarcastically at the sight of brand-new white sheets in Bruce’s hand. “Well, well, I truly hope he doesn’t plan to make that a habit,” Alfred grumbled, glaring at the vitamins with revulsion. “No worries, I will contact the witches to reset the house protection enchantments as soon as possible,” he mocked, smiling defiantly.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Bruce taunted back, as he sat at the breakfast table. He quickly opened the bottle and took a supplement with some water.

“Some black tea, freshly brewed,” He poured the young man a cup from a ceramic pot.

The steam rose and warmed his cheeks together with the smoky notes of bacon. He picked up the utensils and enjoyed his breakfast.

Alfred steps out of the room momentarily and then returns with a newspaper in hand. He slammed the Gotham Gazette on the wood table. “Delivered early this morning. You have work to do.”

Bruce’s eyes widen as he read the headline in bold letters covering about half the front page with several drawings of the GCPD and the dead victims on the ground.

Bruce read the article carefully.

**CREATURE OR LUNATIC?**

_East End district, Gotham City. Two young men were found brutally murdered last night. The individuals have yet to be named. Numerous suspects were questioned by the GCPD. According to detective James Gordon, the victim’s throats were viciously ripped out. Heads barely intact to the bodies. Chests were torn open from sternum to belly with several organs splayed out. After examining the wounds Detective Gordon believes that the attacker was either a deranged lunatic or a wild animal or dog. A curfew has been issued in that area until the GCPD finds the culprit behind the murders._

“Hmm, it couldn’t have been a werewolf, they are bounded to the woods,” Bruce pondered, leaning back on the chair.

Alfred stood straight with his hands clasped behind his back. “Sir-,” he began, thinking wisely about how to approach the topic without overstepping his limits as he did early. “Has it occurred to you that maybe Mr. Jeremiah has used you. I mean it in every sense of the word.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“That while he courted you he had also planned to distract you from finding out the truth. Maybe the Valeska’s have something to do with this,” he guessed, motioning towards the newspaper.

A nervous jitter erupted from Bruce’s chest and rose up to his throat, he swallowed. “That’s impossible, I was with him all night.”

“Yes, but what of the others? His brother, Jerome? Not to mention all the other creatures that live in the mansion.”

Bruce was beginning to feel lightheaded again. But this time, from the sudden change of events. He knew he behaved foolishly with Jeremiah. He was supposed to work, find out what the new vampires in town were conspiring and report it to the other hunters, to prevent such events. He covered his face with his hands.  _No…No! It cannot be them._

“Did you do any detective work at all?!” Alfred asked, irately.

“Apparently, Jeremiah has an ability to read thought forms from humans and animals.”

“Is that all?”

Bruce sighed. “Alfred, I need you to trust me. It can’t be the Valeska’s,” he argued. “They recently moved, why would they risk their identity?”

Alfred shook his head. “I don’t know. Though it has been awfully quiet since your parent’s death. Followed by new vampires in town and now these murders. I merely speculate.”

Bruce nods. “Send a telegram to Mr. Fox, we have work to do,” he commanded, taking a sip of tea.

“Right away, Sir.” While Alfred stood up to exit the breakfast room the doorbell rang.

Bruce’s heart thudded. Anxious to see who it could be, he stood and followed his butler to the front door.

“Ah, Miss Quinzel, what a pleasure it is to see you,” Alfred’s eyes lit up to see a gorgeous woman in a flowy light white-pink dress and corset and holding a matching parasol. Half of her bouncy blonde curls draped over her shoulders and the other half adorned with silver berets. “My, do you look as fresh as the morning sunrise,” he complimented.

Bruce rolled his eyes.

The blonde chuckles, “Thank you, sir.” Her sapphire eyes and feathery lashes shift to Bruce as he approached the door, “Mr. Wayne,” she greeted, extending her pink lacy gloved hand.

Bruce kisses it.

“I was hoping I could speak with you,” she said.

Alfred interrupts, “Delightful!” He quickly grabbed the young man’s top hat and frock coat and shoved him out the door. “Some fresh air will do him some good. I will have some fresh tea prepared when the two of you return.”

Bruce had no time to respond as the door closed behind him.

* * *

 

 

The invigorating freshness of the crisp morning air filled Bruce’s lungs. The sun’s golden glow saturated the gothic structures in Gotham. The only time of day when the city appeared normal and pleasant. Several carriages rolled by with horses snickering and trotting about.

Mr. Wayne strolled alongside Miss Quinzel on the footpath with her hand in his forearm. Harley’s other laced hand twitched nervously on the parasol handle. The rosy pink and pearl fabric shading her smooth ivory face from the blaze.

“The masquerade was absolutely wonderful, I had a lovely time! Don’t you agree?” She asked, gleefully.

Bruce nods, “Yes, yes, I did.” Occasionally, he would tip his top hat to greet passersby’s.

“We are the topic of conversation at tea parties.” She lifted an eyebrow and softly rolled her eyes. She has been a victim of gossip, sideways glances, and crude remarks ever since the ball. “Many people envy us,” she added.

“Hmm.” Bruce was not aware of this since he hasn’t been out mingling with others since the ball. “I am sure it’ll ease down,” he comforted.

She pursed her lips. Unlike men, women are accustomed to such ridicule and criticisms.

 “Jeremiah and I missed you at dinner last night. It was a shame the two of you couldn’t attend.”

Harley slows her footing and looked up curiously, “What dinner?”

“Oh, I-eh-,” Bruce mumbled, startled by her response. Did Jeremiah lie about Harley and Jerome not being able to attend dinner? Did he even invite them? “Pay no mind. I was mistaken.”

She brushed the question off, her mind occupied with more important things. “Well, have you decided yet?” She asked, in a whisper.

“What?”

She completely stops and turns to face him disbelievingly. “You are not serious?” When she noticed that Bruce’s puzzled expression did not change she scanned up and down the sidewalk for any passerby’s and then whispered, “You and I have been chosen. To become their eternal lovers.”

Suddenly, panic brewed in Bruce’s stomach. A tingling heatwave rose to his neck and spreads around his cheeks.

_Eternal lovers._

When his mother recited stories about the supernatural, she once mentioned a rare ritual. Where two people, a vampire and a human, are bound together by love and can live off each other’s blood forever. However, it is extremely rare and during the ritual, if the bond does not form then the human dies and the vampire gets terribly sick. The magic lies in the blood and the spirit. If the blood of the vampire and human are compatible, then it should work.

Miss Quinzel reached the back of her neck to unfasten the pink lace choker with a dangling portrait pendant to reveal two punched wounds. She shyly looks up at Mr. Wayne. Then attaches it back on, hands shaking.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said, pulling down on his necktie to show his wounds.

“Jerome told me last night, I am sure Jeremiah will inform you as soon as you see him.”

Bruce was struggling with a multitude of emotions, but he was trying to remain calm and collected in front of the lady. “Well, what have you decided?”

“It’s rather tempting, is it not?” She tilts her parasol back to allow some of the sunshine to tickle her face.  Her eyes close into a daydream. “An existence surrounded by luxury, traveling to far away distant lands, host elaborate fancy balls-,” she giggled. Breathes in the cool air and sighed, “We would be kings and queens.”

It all seemed so magical. The way she described it. However, there is a fault in her fantasies. Bruce squinted, eyebrows furrowed at Harley’s brightened face. “It is damnation.”

Those words tore through her daydream. Her sapphire eyes pierced into his solemn dark eyes. “What could be more damning than the reality we live in now?”

Bruce shakes his head. “As long as the ritual works. If not, it is death. Is a sumptuous life really worth it?”

“Yes, if it’s with the one you love.”

Bruce could not fathom what was happening. His mind was in a whirlwind of thoughts. From Alfred’s hate and suspicions towards Jeremiah to the news about obvious supernatural murders, and now to this. The Valeska’s plan to make Mr. Wayne and Miss Quinzel their eternal lovers.

Immortality.

His knees weaken, he stumbled. He leans back on a nearby lamppost.

“Are you alright?” Harley asked, concerned.

Heart pounding in his chest, he clutched it and breathed heavily. His eyes gleamed up at the young lady. He raised a hand, “Give me a moment.”

Jeremiah is a vampire and he is human. The only way to be together is if he turned into a creature of the night. He knew about this all along, ever since the ball. The consequences of such love were beginning to appear. Deep in his heart, he knew he could not and would not change who he is. He is a hunter. However, fear struck and electrified his veins at the thought of losing Jeremiah.

Living without him was inconceivable. His body, mind, and soul rejected the thought.

_What to do? What to do?_

 

 

 

[How Harleen Quinzel appears to me when I write her]

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are the Valeska's responsible for last night's murders? Is Jeremiah manipulating Bruce for his own personal gain or for any other purpose?  
> Most importantly, will Bruce risk it all and become Jeremiah's eternal lover?  
> Everything is about to get complicated for Bruce. He has hunter work to do and he has to make a big decision before he confronts Jeremiah again.
> 
> I choose, Homer's Iliad because I was fascinated by the hidden love story between Achilles and Patroclus hahaha. I thought it was appropriate for this AU.
> 
> LOVE YOU ALL XOXO :D!


	8. My Brother, My Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, we saw the rising complications of Bruce's love for Jeremiah and his destiny as a hunter.  
> Now...  
> We shall see a peek into Jeremiah's complications as a vampire and his relationship with Jerome.  
> And finally, we come to understand Bruce and Jeremiah's divine connection.

The crescent moonlight beams through gothic arched windows in the Valeska’s dark mansion. The glow casts an eerie shadow over the faces and curvatures of the erotic marble statues.

Jeremiah’s steps echo across the hall as he heads towards the drawing room past the library.

 _Oh, Bruce_ … he thought. A dreamy smile lingers on his lips as he reminisced about the previous night. Bruce’s pure essence reverberates throughout his chest causing his skin to tingle. In all his vampire years, he has never felt wholesome as he does now.

From a distance, he could see the candles golden light radiate from the room and could hear obnoxious laughter and Jerome’s voice booming throughout the walls.

He slows his footing before he reaches the door.

Several creatures of the night were mingling and dancing about the room. Silver chalices clinking over cheerful conversations. The maestro strumming away on the piano keys to a quick tempo form of the waltz. Jerome dancing gleefully with a young dark-haired vampire. Her long ebony tresses and nightgown flowing with every twirl.

Everyone appears to be having a grand time, however, there were two vampires huddled over a human body on the couch. They were drinking from its wrists and ripping through the skin violently.

“Jeremiah!” Jerome shouted, merrily.

All the creatures stopped and turned their attention to their masters.

“What have I said?” Jeremiah scolded.

His glowing silver eyes glaring at the vampires on the couch.

“Drinking blood from a body belongs in the dining hall or in your bedchambers **not** on the rosewood furniture and _most certainly_ **not** on the rich upholstery.”

Both vampire’s lips tremble as they heard a menacing growl from their master. They quickly apologized and carried the sickly pale-faced human out of the room.

Jerome chuckled.

Even when the twins were mortal, Jeremiah’s nature was always very refined and formal. He kept himself impeccably well-groomed in custom-made posh tailored suits. He knew the proper etiquette for every occasion and took care of all intellectual matters in the family. On the other hand, Jerome’s impulsive and erratic behavior brought about conflict and rebellion. However, his wild temperament does have an enjoyable aspect. His methods are improper and messy at times, but, unlike his brother, Jerome is willing to get bloody. Their relationship is an odd but necessary balance.

Jerome brushes back a few flaming ginger strands from his face. His lips stretch wide over his ghostly blood specked cheeks. He spreads his arms open, “Come, tell me where the hell have you been? You send me away all last night and now I see-,” Jerome paused, sensing a change in his brothers’ appearance.

His emerald static eyes scan Jeremiah from head to boot. “My, my…,” he breathed.

Jeremiah’s complexion was no longer a dull corpse hue, instead, it was a brilliant untarnished moonlight white. The silver tint around his irises glowed with a hint of gold. Bright and captivating as a flame. His lips soft and plumped red, and the shades of green in his ebony hair fully highlighted. Bruce’s blood was pumping and electrifying his own blood and soul and it showed marvelously.

“You look…unnaturally healthy,” Jerome said, with a hint of jealousy. “So…when will I properly meet Mr. Bruce Wayne?”

Heat rose in Jeremiah’s veins. _Properly meet_ another human for his brother means, _when will I sink my teeth in him?_ He glared.

The vampires in the room exchanged looks as they watched the twins cautiously.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I can smell him everywhere. From the dining room to the library and even on the damn stony path to the moors. And not to mention, how his scent emanates off you,” he husked.

He slithers closer to Jeremiah and circles around him, breathing in the aura.

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning into Jeremiah’s neck. “His blood smells… delicious, absolutely divine,” he whispered, breath irritating the other’s ear. He turns fully around to face his brother. “I would like a taste,” he purred, lowering his eyes with a crooked devilish grin.

Jeremiah clenched his fists and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “What about Ms. Quinzel? I think it’s best we avoid conflict.”

Jerome snorts, “Please.” No longer amused, he friskily slaps Jeremiah’s face. “Come now, you were always the selfish one. It is considered polite to share.”

Some of the vampires in the room hissed, preparing for another brotherly quarrel.

Jeremiah tries his best to control his violent instincts. Being that Jerome is his creator, aggression is not a clever choice. He turns his attention to all the other vampires, “As you were.”

With their master’s words, the others instantly relaxed. They went ahead with their conversations and drinks. Some of the contortionists practiced their dances, twisting and stretching their figures. The dark-haired vampire scribbles notes for the violin on a music sheet. The maestro shakes his ashen curly hair and quickly begins to play. The pianos ethereal melody cascades in the background.

“Let’s discuss this another time.”

Jerome rolled his eyes.

“How are the preparations?” Jeremiah asked, settling on a gilded rosewood armchair decorated in beige fabric.

Jerome slouches on a similar chair facing his brother and lifts his legs over the armrest. He licks the dry blood off his fingers and face. “Remarkably well. We have recruited enough. We can begin transformations tomorrow. The elites in this city are eating from the palm of our hands,” he elated, mischievously.

“I return from Gotham City hall. I made a deal with Mr. Dent to remove the ridiculous prohibition about our kind drinking human blood. However, it is with the human’s consent,” said Jeremiah, eyes flashing to his brother.

“Our fortune speaks for itself. I’m sure the hunters aren’t pleased to hear about this,” Jerome said.

“Leave the hunters to me. I came across Ms. Ivy Pepper there. Do you remember her from the ball? Well, she has a significant scent upon her. I can’t seem to decipher what she is,” Jeremiah pondered.

He met her once at the ball and then again at city hall. Both times his abilities failed him. Her woodsy erotic scent and impenetrable muffled thoughts bothered him.

“No, though I doubt we need to concern ourselves.” Jerome gasps, “Speaking of which.” He abruptly stands, “We should coordinate another smashing ball, brother! What do you say? This time with a dinner to die for,” Jerome proposed. He playfully waltzes around the room on his own while laughing hysterically.

 Jeremiah was unamused, he glowered. “How could you possibly think about such merriments with a war in our hands?”

Jerome stood dead in his dance, he threw his head back and laughed even harder. “A WAR?! What? The pups in the woods? The city is a restricted area! They aren’t allowed to step a paw onto these grounds.”

“Not if they have help from the witches. So, don’t be daft, we must be vigilant,” said Jeremiah.

“You mean the _gypsies?_ ” Jerome mocked, with a repulsive look. “You’re not serious. The filthy sluts in town scraping for gold?” He shakes his head doubtfully.

“Did you forget? Any fervent witch is powerful enough to take on a vampire clan,” Jeremiah argued.

“And did _you_ forget the protection medallion against witches that our friend, the demonic priestess, gave us centuries ago?” Jerome argued back.

Jeremiah releases an agitated breath as he leans back in the chair. He crossed his legs, resting his elbow on the armrest and lays his chin in between his thumb and index finger.

“Relax, brother,” Jerome consoled. “Whatever the werewolves are planning will not compare to what _we_ are equipped for. We have dealt with worse in the past. **This is our city now.** They can try to take it from our bloody hands,” he boasted, loud enough for the others to hear. Followed by a burst of maniacal laughter.

The vampires around the room cheered along, raising their drinks.

Jerome sits back on the chair concerned about the other’s distant gaze, “Something’s different about you.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Jeremiah sighed.

“Hm, well it is painstakingly obvious. Is it Mr. Wayne?”

“No,” Jeremiah mumbled, averting his gaze. He could not help it even if he wanted to. Bruce’s glossy juniper eyes and blushing lips cloud his vision.

Jerome’s twisted smile reappears. “You used to be an excellent liar, brother, but you never fooled me. We have the same blood coursing through our veins… I know you.” He scoffs, “The son of the famous hunters has made you vulnerable… how pathetic,” he teased.

Jerome stands up and demands attention from the others in the room. As always, his egotistical effort to put on a show. “Must I remind you, our sole purpose for the ‘eternal lovers’ bond? Hm?”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes and pursed his lips.

“If Miss Quinzel and Mr. Wayne are considered highly compatible to us, which we believe they are, will become our blood hoard for eternity. We will no longer have to bleed another living soul. They’re for our nourishment _only_ ,” he announced, annunciating the last word.

He leans into Jeremiah’s face clasping over the armrests, forcing his head back. Emerald eyes piercing into silver ones. “You could sway him with all of your charming attributes and declarations of everlasting love and your _idiotic_ need for companionship.” He seizes his brother’s face and digs his nails into his cheeks. “But, don’t make him a nail in my boot or the thorn on my side. _Don’t_ place him between us,” he growled.

Jeremiah takes hold of Jerome’s nightshirt, lips draw back into a snarl. Jerome’s filthy calloused fingers tighten nails cuts through his smooth flesh. Scarlet droplets trickle down his cheeks.

“Don’t make me kill your lover,” Jerome threatened. He releases his hold and with a devilish smirk, he straightens himself. “ _Again_.”

Suddenly, Jeremiah slams Jerome’s body against the wall. The sudden violent thud startled the creatures in the room. Several growls resonate over one another as they crouch in position.

However, the loudest and deepest growl thundered from Jeremiah’s throat and through his teeth. Eyes bloodshot and shiny, hands clutched around Jerome’s neck. “I am quite aware that you lack intelligence and so it is difficult for you, however, _think wisely_ before you decide to threaten me again, brother _,”_ Jeremiah warned, nonchalantly. He releases Jerome and storms out of the room.

Even though those final words cut into Jerome’s heart, he quickly dismisses it with a chuckle.

* * *

 

 

Jeremiah enters his bedchamber and leans back on the wood door. His teeth grinding and body shaking uncontrollably. He takes deep breaths to reduce the fiery rage surging throughout his body.

Moonlight enters the room from the balcony window and in-between the drapes. The shimmery light touches the black and gold embossed wallpaper and the over the oak wood framed bed covered in maroon satin sheets. Some of the light shines through Jeremiah’s droopy eyelids. The dilated blood vessels around his eyes contract. His breath stabilizes as the marks on his cheeks slowly heal around the blood specks.

In a dark corner next to a wardrobe lies a black wood coffin.

Jeremiah staggers over to the coffin and falls to his knees. Traces his fingers over the lid, letting the black grimy splinters pinch his flesh.

He opens the lid and rummages through varies relics from his human life. From favorite theater attires and props to old documents and painted portraits.

And then, there it was.

He lifts a painted portrait of the young man he once loved, allowing the incandescent moonlight to wash over it. The handsome young man’s dark mocha hair brushed back with a few wavy strands hanging over the side of his forehead. Dark squinty eyes crinkled at the corners and his thin pink lips curved into a shy smile.

Memories of that night flood Jeremiah’s mind. He adorably blushed and could not stop giggling as Jeremiah painted his portrait.

If only he could go back and take his true love away from the coming storm. Away from his brother’s rage. But, he failed. However, the universe is giving them another chance.

His fingers rub over the portrait. “My love,” he murmured, with a dreamy extended look.

This handsome young man is now a reincarnation of Bruce Wayne. The same precious soul reborn into a new body and into a new life.

They _need_ each other. How the distant stars _need_ the night to shine. Or how the earth after a frigid winter _needs_ a blossoming spring. A divine connection.

Unfortunately, Jerome out of malice and jealousy took away the young man he once loved and then turned Jeremiah into a devil’s creature.

 _My brother, my curse._ He thought.

Even though, Jeremiah’s soul is damned he genuinely believes that love will be his salvation. If he were to eternally bound himself with Bruce in spirit and blood, the world will never divide them again.

 _Don’t make me kill your lover…again._ Jerome’s malicious words and laughter echo in his mind. An intense heatwave trails up his spine.

Jerome has yet to know that Bruce is a reincarnation of his true love, his soulmate. How will he be able to protect Bruce from his brother’s wrath?

_What to do? What to do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah AHHHHH ok.  
> In the final chapters, Bruce will find out about the Valeska's plans and the culprit behind the ruthless murders. Then, finally all the cards on the table. Jerome will meet Bruce. Jeremiah will explain to Bruce about their divine connection and reincarnation. AND THEN THE BIG QUESTION WILL BE ANSWERED. 
> 
> Will Bruce join Jeremiah into eternal life? AHHHHHHH  
> How about you all, do you think Bruce should stay as a hunter and continue his parents legacy or...should he join Jeremiah his soulmate into eternal life?
> 
> Songs I listened to for Jeremiah: "Lamentations of the Heart", by Philip Wesley and "A Vampire's Heart", by Peter Gundry
> 
> A lot is going on and if you all have questions please message me! haha Thank you!!! oxoxox


	9. Metamorphosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce receives devastating news from city hall, finds the culprit behind the vicious murders, and sneaks into the Valeska's mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH! I am so sorry this took me so long. I've had some bad weeks, but you all keep me going. I am so grateful that you take the time to read this. The only pure joy now in my life. It makes me happy and I hope it makes you happy as well! :D xoxo  
> BTW, this is a like a double chapter, much longer than the rest.

In Wayne manor study, beyond the fireplace lies a secret passage into a massive subterranean cave. In the cave, Thomas and Martha Wayne studied and researched the supernatural phenomenon and created their weapons and elixirs. In a small corner, soy wax candles illuminate over wood mantels and tables. They appear as brilliant spheres of gold in the blackness.

Tree roots loop in and out of the caves dank stone walls. Hundreds of decrepitating grimoires and ancient alchemical texts descend on wood shelves. Secret incantations from archaic witches, the manipulation of time and energy, the conjurations of King Solomon, the mysteries of vampirism and lycanthropy, and much more. In a wood cabinet nearby sat dusted vials of bubbly neon liquids, holy water orbs, and jars with magical herbs. Lastly, displayed on the rocky walls are the hunter’s tools.

Bruce Wayne skims through a fifteenth-century illuminated manuscript on medieval magic. He brushes the dirt off on the cursive Latin scripts and squints to study various forbidden sorceries. In hopes to find anything on the eternal lover’s ritual. The softening candlelight flickers over illustrations of hooded demonic entities with animal skull masks and necromancy symbols. For only a powerful witch or demonic priestess can perform the ritual.

The darkness in the cave had its own presence, it consumed most of its surroundings. One could not see its depth nor the hanging stalactites overhead. High above the cave echoed the disturbing resonance of dripping water and the fluttering wings and chirps of bats.

An electric spark tingles on Bruce’s fingertips. He jerks his hand away with a gasp. His eyes narrow at the violet hooded entity on the page.

Mr. Pennyworth enters the cave with a three-light candelabra. Mr. Fox walks closely alongside him, clutching a brown leather case to his chest. He fearfully watched his shadow disappear within the blackness. He swallows and then searches the dark for bats.

Bruce closes the manuscript, the dirt around the blackened parchment edges dispersed. He shoves Thomas’ gold pocket watch back into his double-breasted walnut vest, the gold chain dangling from the side pocket. When in the cave time seems to dissolve. He pulls up his white collar and tightens the black-tie over the vampire wounds, he clears his throat.

“Mr. Fox, pleasure,” he greeted.

“Mr. Wayne,” he shuddered, eyes wide.

“Ah, the guardians of the night,” Bruce said, eyes wandering above him. “I assure you, these will not bite,” he chuckled, casually putting his hands in his trouser pockets. “My parents and I worked within these cavernous walls for years. I once was afraid of them as you are now. Over the years, I learned so much from them. I learned that what we fear is irrelevant. It is the _idea_ of fear that we must strive to conquer.” Bruce smiles, “They’ve become my companions.”

Mr. Fox stood silent and studied the young man with concern.

Alfred nervously laughs and changes the topic, “Eh-well, then. Mr. Fox has news from city hall.”

“Ah, yes!” Mr. Fox sets the case onto the wood desk. “On behalf of the supernatural committee, Mr. Cobblepot and Mr. Dent have decided to permit vampires to drink human blood with their consent.”

Bruce’s dark eyes flash over to Alfred’s troubled features. The wounds start to itch below the collar. He gulps. “Did they not think to consort with the hunters before making a decision?”

He could feel Alfred’s stare accusing him of being hypocritical. His guardian is right; however, he ignores it.

“I am afraid they do not recognize the hunter’s society any longer,” Mr. Fox informed. For a moment he forgot about the creatures above. He frowned and then sighed. “From the death of the city’s most superior hunters-your parents, to the vampire’s taking over and now these brutal anonymous murders… the last members of the hunter’s society have resigned at the Gotham City Church.”

Bruce and Alfred were both stunned. They fell silent.

Bruce contemplates and tries to focus back on how this all came to be, the catalyst. “I had a strange feeling the night of the masquerade. The storm that night, it was a bad omen.”

“Eh-, sir there was no storm that night,” Alfred corrected.

Mr. Fox nods in agreement.

“That is impossible, I saw it with my own eyes. I heard the thunder within the dark clouds,” Bruce argued. Now that he thought of it, no one at the ball acknowledged the storm. What if he created the storm in his mind, like the bleeding red rose? Where are these visions coming from?

Alfred’s distress was clear as he searched the young man’s face. “Master Bruce is something troubling you?”

Suddenly, it felt as if the darkness in the cave swelled. The chirping sounds above accelerated and echoed deafeningly. Bruce felt his body sway and his mind woozy. He closes his eyes and leans his arms on the wood table.

Forehead creased as he concentrates hard. He breathes in deeply to slow the pounding of his heart. The sounds slowly fade out. His face relaxes as he thinks back into the Valeska’s library.

Jeremiah’s voice and words resonate in him. _Beneath the disorder and pain, the darkness you so speak, there lies the real you. A pure white iridescent light, a beautiful soul._  

Bruce’s breath stabilizes as he pushed the visions to the back of his mind.

“Current events are bleak. They are not willing to risk their lives and I respect their decision. However-,” he opens his eyes. His vision steady on the candles sharp light. Bruce…the diminutive light in a cavern of darkness. “I have not lost hope. As the last hunter, I will continue to protect the good people of Gotham.”

Alfred and Mr. Fox exchanged looks and smiled with relief.

“Master Bruce, you are never alone. You have us,” assured Alfred.

Bruce turns his attention to the gentlemen and beamed.

“Speaking of help, I’ve revised and made a few changes on some of your hunter’s weapons,” Mr. Fox said, tapping his hand on the leather case, and then undoing the gold latches.

Wrapped in the satin fabric were several small silver throwing daggers. “Sharpened and smeared with incense ash and weakening herbs. I’ve included some additional smoke grenades and lastly, I’ve rewired and extended the grappling hook your father used.” Mr. Fox hands the tool to Bruce.

The tool is much lighter than the one his father once used, the hooks pointy edges gleam in the light.

“Well, then, it appears I’ll be paying East End and the Valeska’s a visit tonight,” Bruce smirked.

* * *

 

  

 

The moon and stars hide behind puffy gray clouds amongst the midnight marble sky. The lampposts flicker eerily above the misty streets. The usual scenery in the East End district of Gotham City, is drunken gentlemen staggering out of taverns and gypsies rattling their bracelets and coined decorated skirts for attention. However, due to the recent murders and curfew, this part of the city is quiet and lifeless tonight. Apart for the occasional carriages rolling hastily by.

In a dark corner, Bruce scans the cityscape below from atop a gothic building. He has been patrolling this district for a while now. From a short distance, he could see the pier and the gloomy woods. He leans back on the stone wall in between lancet arched stained-glass windows and crosses his black gauntlets. The bottom of his long black leather trench coat softly flutters in the wind. The hood over his head shadowing his fearless eyes and the black neckerchief covering his nose and mouth.

His body serene but, his mind alert and eyes vigilant.

The dark became his sanctuary.

Thomas Wayne made certain that his son trained professionally in all areas of the supernatural. Bruce physically trained with the ancient master martial artist, Ra’s Al Ghul with the league of shadows. The league members later became known as the hunter’s society. He learned how to manipulate and ensnare the dark to use at his own advantage. On the other hand, Thomas trained Bruce psychologically. How to confront his fears. They spent hours training until the candles sweated away in the cave. For that is how Bruce became a hunter.

In between two pinnacles crowning around the structure, Bruce bends down to one knee and rests his elbow on an eroded gargoyle head.

Bruce’s eyelids close, drowning his thoughts in silence and concentrating on his senses.

 

*

 

A carriage rolls hastily over uneven foggy streets. The horses’ hooves thunder through the stillness of the night.

In the carriage, Ms. Ivy Pepper trembles uncontrollably in her unkempt bay leaf green satin dress. Her innocent porcelain features crinkled in deep agony. Tears spilling across her reddened cheeks and trailing down her chin and over her quaking hands in prayer position.

“No please, I beg of you,” she sobbed. “You- you do not understand. There is a beast I am not acquainted with that lives inside me. It will emerge again. It will! And it _will_ devour those around me.”

The gentleman sitting across and untroubled by her wails says, “And that is exactly why Mr. Dent ordered me to enter you into Arkham Asylum at once.”

She shakes her head. These imbeciles believe her distress comes from some mental break down, a fault in her mind. Dutifully, if she was a man, they would not diagnose her so ruthlessly. The emerald butterfly barrette loosens from her tousled ginger hair. She covers her face and sniffles into her hands. Her throat burning from loud and rough cries.

She weeps and prays. “I am changing. I’ve woken up with blood in my hands. I need help!”

“Yes, you are dangerous Ms. Pepper. You need to be under immediate care,” the man insisted.

Suddenly, Ivy inhales sharply. A burning sensation ignites between her breasts and bursts throughout her being. The heat courses her veins and spreads around the organs like a virus.

“Oh, oh no,” she breathed heavily. “It is happening.” Ivy’s body shakes with the fever as she screams.

The man suddenly panics and yells out the carriage window commanding the coachman to pull over.

But, it was too late. The horses sensed Ivy as a predator. The frighten animals jump and neigh nervously in place. The coachman falls over the carriage as the horses bolted down the street.

Ivy rips at her dress, pulling at the laces and long-sleeves, then clutches over the corset under her reddened bosom. The fire coursing inside her, burning her skin and suffocating her. The pupils in her eyes shrink as the green tint of her irises shift to a glowing amber yellow.

 

*

 

The alarming sounds of screams and neighs boom below. Bruce opens his eyes and spots a fast wobbling carriage turning the street. Bruce swiftly stands and sprints along the edge of the building between the arched windows and pinnacles. The coat flaps behind him as he follows the carriage below. He mentally measures the distance and timing to land safely. Once he found a good angle and the end of the building, he jumped.

Bruce’s knee-high leather boots slam onto the hood of the carriage along with his knees and chest. He pulls out a silver dagger from inside his coat pocket and tries to break in, but, the carriage tilts over and crashes. The oil lamp shattering on the pavement in the process. He falls off the hood and lands on his back with a painful groan.

The horses detach from the harness and bolt away from the carriage.

Ivy breaks out the carriage door and falls on her bloody hands and feet. Her head jerks up and sniffs the air. Her wide glowing yellow eyes notice Bruce on the ground. She crawls over him breathing deeply through her nose and teeth.

“Ivy?” Bruce pants, disbelievingly.

Ivy grips onto his black leather vest.

Bruce swiftly clasps his black-gloved fingers around Ivy’s neck, outstretching his arms and lifting her away from his body.

Her nails firmly penetrate his chest, growing into hooked claws.

“Ah!” Bruce grunts through gritted teeth.

Ivy’s face begins to swell and it spreads across her body. Her petite human bones pop and crack as beastly ones grow in place. As the bones regrow her muscles enlarge. Her beautiful ginger hair sheds. Coarse white and auburn fur push up from the hair follicles all over her skin. While her body elongates and thickens, her corset and dress shreds apart and drops around Bruce.

Glowing animalistic eyes stare down at Bruce with a hunger for destruction. Blood and saliva drip from Ivy’s mouth over his neckerchief. While Ivy goes through her transformation, growling and shrieking in pain, Bruce reaches out for the silver dagger next to him on the pavement and slashes her chest diagonally.

Clearly, Ms. Pepper is turning into the cursed beast of the full moon- a werewolf. However, the silver did nothing. Instead, it made her angrier.

Ivy’s precious porcelain features reconstruct into a wolf’s face. She bares her sharp growing teeth and then shoves Bruce’s body from the street onto the footpath.

Bruce grunts as he hits the ground again. He is shocked, eyebrows knit in confusion. He thinks quickly about his next step. He pulls two silver daggers smeared in myrrh incense ash and minced vetiver leaves. Its magical properties weaken any cursed creature. He could not see Ivy in the thick white mist. The lamppost nearby blinks rapidly in the glass along with his pulse.

The final high-pitched shrills of a young woman reverberate from the creature’s throat and finish with a howl. A large wolf emerges from the mist. Her sharp paws scratch the pavement as she stares at Bruce with blood-lust in her amber-yellow eyes. Her white-silver fur thick with streaks of red.

Bruce swiftly stands and glares back.

_Come on, Ivy. I know you are in there, fight it._

Sadness strikes his heart to see his friend in this predicament. Ivy was always a sweet and elegant gal. When she had a coin to spare she would give it to the homeless children in the slums in this district. She does not deserve this curse.

Suddenly, the wolf charges with a bark causing the fog to swirl and disperse.

Bruce throws both silver daggers at the wolf.

The blade swiftly and precisely scratches the side of her body. She staggers and then falls in front of him. The herbs burn through the fur and over the flesh. She howls in pain and recoils, bolting away from Bruce.

Bruce chases the wolf through the mist and through the alleys.

Around the corner, he stops as he saw her escape into the woods nearby the pier. Bruce pants removing the hood and pulling down the drooled neckerchief. He clutches his chest; the claws left their marks.

He walks back towards the crashed carriage and climbs on it. The gentleman inside had his throat ripped out. Blood gushes down his suit and his eyes wide in terror.

Another dead.

Bruce was somewhat relieved that the vicious murders were not the Valeska’s doing but, disheartened that it was a dear friend instead.

A jewel shines in Bruce’s peripheral vision. He picks up Ivy’s butterfly emerald barrette and sighs.

 

* * *

 

 

The grey clouds continue to paint the night sky as it looms over the Valeska’s mansion. All the tall arched windows and balconies of the Gothic structure radiated magnificently from a distance.

Bruce Wayne hides behind a stone wall near the enchanted garden. Far off, he could see Persephone and the black stallion galloping playfully about the misty field. The sight of them blossoms a warm sensation below his chest. 

“Jeremiah…” Bruce whispers into the cool atmosphere.

The last time he saw or touched Jeremiah was on his bed. How the man’s pale and muscular body flexed and encircled him from behind. Bruce’s eyelids become heavy. The unnatural energetic pull he feels when he thinks about or is in the presence of Jeremiah, creeps up his body. It makes everything around him dissolve or move in slow motion. Jeremiah is only a short distance away. His blood, body, and soul yearn for him. He wants nothing more than to run into the mansion, find him, and confess his undying love.

But, no. Bruce shakes his head to wake himself from the trance. He is a hunter tonight and his plan is to sneak into the mansion and find out what the Valeska’s are planning. It is his duty.

Bruce draws his hood up and reaches for a vial in his trench coat pocket. The vial contains bubbly purple neon liquid. Drinking this will increase his stealth ability, creating a mystical shield over his aura. Creatures with acute hearing and scent will not be able to detect him. At least not for thirty minutes and so he must move quickly. He drinks it and then pulls up his neckerchief.

The moon hides behind the clouds and so the shade of the night was overcoming. Bruce glides along the shadows, up the stone steps towards the gothic arched windows overlooking the hallways with exotic statues. He continues until he was underneath the ballroom balconies. He angles the grappling hook above him and shoots it. The hook attaches onto the balustrade. He moves up and behind the wall with speed and precision. He peeks through the balcony’s glass door and past the drapes.

His squinty dark eyes widen with shock. Right before him, the vampires that reside in the Valeska’s mansion were turning people into the seductive damned creatures of the night. Bruce recognizes some elite members from the masquerade, others not so much. His pulse began to race from the intense anger. The vampires were draining the mortal’s blood from various parts of the body. They would have to be at the brink of death before the creatures can feed them their own blood to complete the transformation.

The women and men’s scream echoed against the white and gold ballroom walls. They were in deep agony, shaking, and panting, tugging, and ripping their clothing during the process. Thick crimson fluid splattered over the black and white checkered floor.

Bruce averts his gaze. His eyes glisten with fiery rage.

 

*

 

Bruce enters the mansion from the courtyard. Akin to a ghost, he glides through the dark corridors. He passes by several dark rooms including multiple bedchambers and the dining room. The only room with its door wide open and brightly candlelit was the library. He soundlessly approached the entrance and glanced inside.

Jeremiah stood with his back to Bruce, leaning over the fireplace mantel. Eyes extended into the ribbons of light dancing and sparkling and his mind in deep contemplation.

At the moment, Bruce is struggling with various sentiments. His blood is boiling with rage at the possibility that Jeremiah has been manipulating him the entire time. Especially after what he witnessed in the ballroom. Then, there’s the passionate magnetic pull in his soul that hooks onto Jeremiah and reels in continuously.

He clenched his jaws and sprints towards Jeremiah, the fury in his eyes overpowering his body and mind. But, before he could reach Jeremiah, he felt another force hit him on the right side of his waist and slightly lifting him off his feet. His back slams against the bookshelves next to the fireplace. It happened all at once. Someone clutches his trench coat and it’s not Jeremiah.

“My, my…what do we have here? A hunter?” The voice deep and raspy with a hint of humor.

Bruce scuffles under the person’s grasp.

“Oh, it is THE hunter, Mr. Wayne. My brothers Achille’s heel,” he chuckled darkly, then roughly pulls down Bruce’s neckerchief and removes the hood.

Bruce’s dark eyes glare into sharp blazing emerald irises.

“Jerome!” Jeremiah shouted, pushing away from the mantel, breathing heavily and completely petrified by what’s before him.

Jerome extends his hand, pushing his brother’s chest back and flashing him with threatening eyes. “Step any closer and I’ll rip his throat and drink from it,” he warned, ominously.

A menacing growl rumbled through Jeremiah’s throat and out his gritted sharp teeth. His silver eyes wide and pierced radiantly as the moonlight.

As Jerome’s attention turns back to Bruce his wicked grin slowly falls. “No…it…it can’t be,” he whispered, as he studied the young man’s visage. He releases Bruce, dropping him on his feet and deliberately steps back. “I-I saw you die, I killed you.” He wore a puzzled expression as he shook his head. “I saw you bleed into oblivion. I made sure of it,” he snarled ruthlessly, clenching his fists.

Bruce was panting and glowering at Jerome and trying to remain focused. The rage that briefly blinded him ceased.   _I saw you die? I killed you._ He blinks a few times, his mind is unexpectedly woozy. He had no words. His eyes narrowed, and brows furrowed.

Jerome turns his glare to Jeremiah. Breathing deeply from his nose. The burgundy vest and tie on his chest temporarily smothering him from the wrath brewing in his blood. The one man who ruined his relationship with his brother is back.   “What is this sorcery? How is he still alive?”

“No, Jerome. It’s not who you think it is. Bruce is a reincarnation.” Jeremiah’s animalistic temper gradually drops. He needs to keep his wits about him, especially now that Jerome’s met Bruce. He needs to protect his lover.

Jerome snorts, and shoves his face in Jeremiahs and nudges him back against the mantel. “You did this! You and the demonic priestess did something to bring him back, some form of witchcraft, didn’t you?! You couldn’t accept the fact that I ended that weak part of you that tried to separate us.”

“You are wrong, Jerome. Your ego clouds your judgment, as always. It was fate,” he said, nonchalantly. His brother would not understand, he never did. He raised an eyebrow smiling softly. “Fate brought us together,” his silver eyes shift to Bruce.

Jerome growls and then huffs. He turns away and paces in between Bruce and Jeremiah as he ponders the abrupt and unfortunate situation.

Bruce’s dark eyes slowly find silver ones. Those eyes staring back at him profoundly. He fights the urge to punch him but to also fall into his arms and brush his lips on those dark and luscious full red lips. He swallows down the desire.

Those dark red lips turn up at the corner into a crooked smile. “My, Bruce…,” his voice velvety and light as rain. “You look ravishing in black leather.” Silver eyes momentarily look away to admire Bruce’s ensemble.

Bruce’s lips part to inhale sharply. He took the moment to marvel at Jeremiah’s immaculate appearance. His thin striped black trousers fitting tightly around his thighs and waistline. A pearl white dress shirt and silk puff tie underneath an opulent silver vest, perfectly resembling his irises. Bruce never ceases to be amazed by Jeremiah’s impeccable fashion skills. His long ghostly pale fingers tapped impatiently on the fireplace mantel. Bruce could sense that same energy. He wants to extend his arm to Jeremiah, to touch him, and beg him to hold him. He wants him, he _needs_ him.

Jerome halts and turns to his brother. “If he is reincarnated as you say, then, he shouldn’t remember anything. A soul reborn, along with its memories.” He laughs sinfully. “You are a fool to believe that you could ever be reacquainted with him.”

Jeremiah rolls his eyes at his brother.

“Reincarnation?” Bruce asked, inquisitively.

Jeremiah saunters over to his oak wood desk and opens the top drawer. He takes out the portrait of his past lover. “I hope this…will help to explain things.” He slowly approaches Bruce and hands him the painted portrait, watching him carefully.

The moment his dark eyes saw himself in a sixteenth-century painted portrait his eyesight blurred. An uncanny chill sweeps up from his fingertips and spreads over his shoulders and spine. The same rejuvenating sensation of resurgence he felt at the masquerade ball. He gasps. He tries to speak but, his voice fails him. He gulps from the unexpected dryness in his mouth. His heartbeats loudly and profoundly. His consciousness floats and then dwindles into a dark hole. He is suffocating in disorientation.

He looks up from the portrait, eyes gleaming, weakness washing over him. “Jeremiah…,” he whispered.

Jeremiah’s pale hand desperately reaches out to touch Bruce’s flushed cheeks. “Bruce…”

As soon as those cold tips touched his skin, the feeling in his body drained away and he fell into blackness…into the dank dark cave…into oblivion.

 

 

 

 

[How Ivy Pepper appears to me when I write her]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The main idea of this chapter was a change, hence, metamorphosis. Every character in their own way from this point on will go through a dramatic change in their life. For example, Bruce becoming the last supernatural hunter and finding out about his past life. Ivy into a full-fledged werewolf. Harley making her decision as Jerome's vampire bride (more next chap.), the mortals transformations into vamps, Jerome finding out about Bruce and lastly, Jeremiah (more on him next chap.). It is not only a change physically but also emotionally.
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING! I really hope you liked this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. xoxo I promise I won't take long for the last one. haha love you!


	10. A Dark Soul's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce recalls memories of a past life then confronts Jeremiah and Jerome about their plans to take over Gotham.  
> Harleen Quinzel joyfully prepares for a grand life-changing event.  
> All the cards get put on the table, as the boys discuss the situation in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH!!!! IM SORRYYYYYY. Unfortunately, I had to deal with my health and it sucked away all of my creativity and inspiration to write. (sobbing) But, I'm back now! So yeah...this is not the last chapter haha. The next one should be it. xoxo 
> 
> FYI: I added a character board for Harleen in chp. 7 and one for Ivy in chp. 9 (Maggie Geha- she's adorable.)

An ominous dark cloud cloaks Bruce’s eyes as he drifts into unconsciousness. The smoky black atmosphere binds his lungs and crushes his chest. The fall felt endless until finally, his feeble physique hits the muddy ground. Thick gritty muck splashes onto his pallid features. Sheets of heavy rain drizzle over his motionless and steaming body. Droplets trail over his thick brows down his cheeks to blend with the blood clots gushing from his mouth. Lightning flashes over his blurry vision followed by a thunderous boom. A faint voice cries out from a distance.

The dark cloud…a nightmare smothers him from within, elevating a river of blood to his throat. He cannot think or speak or see anything in the engulfing darkness of the storm and the looming smog of death.

_Death_ …a friend or foe?

He manages to peer down to his doublet. The blood from his chin drips onto luminous petals of a blooming red rose. The last beautiful sight before leaving his body. “ _J-Jere...miah…”_ he choked.

Centuries ago on that dreadful stormy night, Bruce died.

* * *

 

“Bruce?” A velvety voice asked, with deep concern.

Dark feathery lashes flutter open. Bruce’s earthy rich tinted irises glaze with memories of a distant unknown past. He scans his surroundings with a disoriented expression while his eyesight adjusts to the room.

The Valeska’s library is not as he remembered that wonderous night he spent with Jeremiah. The warm and cozy ambiance with traces of vanilla candle wax and the musty richness of vintage books. No, the difference is that there is a lurking dark presence. Perhaps, the same one that took him so many years ago. He slowly sits up from a familiar couch across the roaring fireplace. A minor pain throbs in between his brows and spreads up his forehead. He shuts his eyes and covers his face with a desire to be surrounded in darkness again.

A ghostly pale hand tilts his chin to the side. Bright silvery eyes invade his vision alike the lightning storm.

“You fainted. Here,” Jeremiah’s unnaturally cold fingers frantically search Bruce’s weary face as he shoves a cup of water to his lips. “Drink,” he commanded.

The cool liquid’s refreshing sensation quenches the dry ache in his throat. He breathes in deeply after the cup is taken away. He tries to open his eyelids again. Next to him on the couch is the creature he is incomprehensively in love with. He fixates on those moonlight irises and rosy full lips. Alluring features that remind him of the night by the enchanted garden. His lips slightly parted to catch his breath.

Jeremiah’s fingers settle over Bruce’s flushed cheek as he gazes in return. Then, his tips slowly brush down to outline Bruce’s jaw and parted lips.

Bruce whimpers, “I…”

Jerome clears his throat. “Yes, I am still here,” he said, frustratingly.

Bruce and Jeremiah break from their static gaze and touch, to find Jerome leaning against the bookshelves with his arms crossed closely over his burgundy vest. He glares darkly at Bruce with bright emerald eyes and an unfaltering arrogant expression.

Bruce narrows his eyes into the blazing fire as he tries to recall his purpose for visiting. He pushes the thought of reincarnation, the visions, and the painting, to the back of his mind. He would rather discuss it with Jeremiah in private. Slowly his thoughts reassembled, and the fiery rage returned. He aggressively runs his hand through his dark sweaty curls. He abruptly stands, and sways to the side, still a bit hazy, and then, stomps away from the couch towards the fireplace. “You lied to me, Jeremiah!” He did not have it in him to look upon Jeremiah’s face as he spoke. The cosmic pull from the creature’s body weakens him. Instead, he focuses on the flickering flames.

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” Jeremiah remarked, perfectly arched eyebrows coming together.

“You informed me that the purpose of the masquerade ball was to distinguish between the trustworthy and the fake. _Not_ to recruit people and turn them into vampires to add to your clan.” Bruce raged, clenching his fists and jaws.

“No, Bruce. I said that was _a_ reason, not _the_ reason,” Jeremiah corrected, nonchalantly.

A husky cackle erupts from Jerome’s throat and bounces about the room. He swiftly covers his mouth with a fist. The others were not amused, they simply scowled him. He shows the palm of his hands in surrender. “Oh, don’t mind me. I am merely an observer. Please, continue.” He waved them off with a sly smile.

Bruce daringly turns around to face his lover. The internal fortress that holds him up as a hunter and a human being dwindle. All the emotional strength that he built over the years of training is on the verge to collapse. The glossiness in his angry eyes reflects the tidal wave that will soon overflow and drown this fortress. All due to the vampire that sits before him. A creature with a dark soul he is devotedly in love with. “I-I trusted you.” He gritted through his teeth.

“And how have I betrayed your trust?” Jeremiah is eager to stand and comfort him to no end but, he fears rejection and, most importantly, he is trying to remain calm in his brother’s presence. He leans back on the cushion and grips tightly on the wooden floral carved armrest as he crosses his close-fitting pinstriped legs. His attention is split between Bruce’s heartbreaking words and at Jerome standing close behind Bruce. He wants to be ready and fast enough to protect Bruce this time if Jerome happens to have another trick up his sleeve.

“You manipulated me.” He hesitantly steps closer to Jeremiah then clutches his chest. “You made _me_ believe that you loved me.” He shakes his head and points at him. “ _You_ used me! You used me to get to the good people of this city. The both of you…” He turns his head to glower at Jerome. “…ended the lineage of hunters, changed the system that has succeeded for decades, for what? The pathetic need for power and control of Gotham.”

Jeremiah smirks at Bruce, impressed and baffled by his analyses. The melancholy and furious energies emanating from Bruce’s body agonizes him because there is a fault in his conclusions. He is fighting every urge in his mind and body not to pull Bruce closely in his arms. But, now he cannot show weakness.

Jerome claps languidly. “Well, well, hunter. It appears you’ve figured our evil plan,” he mocked, chuckling under his breath. “Oh my! What to do, what to do?” He continues to banter which only makes Bruce angrier.

Jeremiah was about to speak but, Bruce quickly interrupts. “I am not finished.” He bravely steps right in front of his face. “You are a fool to think that because you made a few changes in this city, that it’s suddenly yours.”

“What are saying, hunter?” Jerome stops laughing and asks interestingly.

“I thought you were merely observing.” Bruce sassed, shooting a dirty look over his shoulder.

Jerome raises an eyebrow, confounded by the mortal’s aggression. “Hmph.”

Bruce turns back, “Soon to be major Oswald Cobblepot, truly runs this city for the mortals and the supernatural creatures.”

“We made a deal with him and Mr. Dent,” Jeremiah pointed out.

Bruce ridicules. “Then you are an even bigger fool if you don’t believe you’ll eventually owe him something in return and much bigger than what you originally asked for.” He breaks eye contact and shakes his head disbelievingly. “And now these anonymous killings…”

“That is not out doing,” Jerome interjected, pushing his back off the bookshelf.

“I know!” Bruce fumed, turning around, and stomping over to Jerome’s face.

Jeremiah nearly flew up from the couch and stood between them, his back-covering Bruce. “Enough,” he growled at his brother.

“Bruce!” A charming sweet voice called out.

The three gentlemen shifted their attention to the graceful beauty standing by the library's entryway.

All the rage that bubbled over the surface of Bruce’s consciousness dissipated and was replaced with astonishment. He gasped, “Miss Quinzel…”

Harleen’s countenance instantaneously changes from troublesome, when she ambled in during the argument, to joyous, when they gawked at her.

She giggles merrily. A wide smile lifting her puffy cheeks as she parades closer to them in her court train wedding dress. The elegant floral lace long-sleeves lay off the shoulders and then come together to faultlessly accentuate her bosom. The ivory champagne satin and organza fabric tightly fit around her swaying hips. She turns slowly, picking up the tail as she goes. The regal fabric embedded with a few diamonds amongst its design.

She clasps over her neck. “My favorite piece,” she blushes as she polishes a 4-strand pearl choker with a sapphire and diamond brooch in the center belonging to Lilia Valeska, the twins' deceased mother.

Half of her platinum blonde tresses bounce behind her back and over her bare shoulders. The other half in a loose braid crown adorned with pearl barrettes. Lastly, attached at the top was a sheer cathedral veil.

“Tell me how dashing I look!” She squeaked delightfully, coming full circle, and tossing the veil behind her shoulder.

Bruce’s mouth was still open and in deep contemplation.

"Mother's necklace,” Jeremiah observed.

"Yes? What of it?" Jerome exhales and straightens himself at the unexpected beauty before him. He habitually brushes his blazing ginger strands back, then jubilantly skips over to her. “Matches her darling eyes.”

It does not bother Jeremiah, in fact, he is stunned that Jerome would give a woman he claims he has no affection for, such a cherished jewel. He sticks his bottom lip out. "Dear brother I am impressed." He bows at Harleen. "You make an exquisite bride, _mio sorella_ (“my sister” in Italian).

Her hand falls to her bosom, flattered by her soon to be brother in-law’s approval. “Thank- _ah_ ,” she suddenly whimpers harshly from Jerome’s possessive grab.

"Bruce, may I present to you my bride and soon to be the Valeska's Vampiress." Jerome’s fingers sharply clasp over her delicate lace hand and then, lifts it to his salivating mouth. He winks and whispers, “I could devour you.” Lips curling up and exposing sharp canines. They giggle quietly as Bruce and Jeremiah watch them curiously. He pulls her closer to Bruce. "Well?"

Bruce’s eyelids droop as he lowers his head. He could not hide the gloominess in his expression. “You have decided…to end your life and be damned…for,” Bruce gives Jerome a disgusted look. “Him.”

Jerome's smile widens, comically.

Sorrow drains Harleen's sweet innocent face. "Are you not happy for me?" Her crystal sapphire eyes glisten and search Bruce's apprehensive look. She wants to tell him more. Her true purpose for choosing the vampire life and becoming Jerome’s eternal lover. However, such discussions are for another time. Her scarlet lips curl up at the corners. “It appears the quarrel my dear fiancé has is with you, not with me.”

Bruce is confused by how comfortable and strongminded she is about such a life-altering decision.

She sighs. "My dear friend, I need you to trust me. I am not changing for the worse. I will not be ruined… I am adapting." The marine blue in her irises sparkles, holding many secrets.

Bruce blinks at her in a confused manner. It never occurred to him that the creation of mystical creatures was nature’s way of adapting to its changing environment. According to his research, the origin of the supernatural I still confusing but, he recalls most of it being born from tragedy, not a blessing. Vampires, witches, and werewolves come from a dark energetic mystery. Most of them damned and never meant for salvation. Or… is there still a chance?

"Into a dark soul? A creature of bloodlust, curse, and disease. There are still good people in Gotham that do not wish to be tainted or burdened by this,” Bruce implored.

"Am I no longer a good person because I choose to survive… to change?" She countered.

"You are good …but,” He sighs, voice lowers. “That will soon change when you choose to _kill_.”

"No, Bruce." Jeremiah intervened. "If the ritual succeeds than my brother and Harleen will live off each other’s blood. They would never have to hurt a living soul."

Bruce turns to Jeremiah’s wide eyes. For a moment he had forgotten the purpose of the eternal lover’s bond and what it entails. Earlier in the day he was doing his research throughout old grimoires and could not find anything. All he remembers is what his mother told him years ago.

Jerome interjects, "Speaking of killings." He snaps a figure in front of Bruce’s eyes. "Hunter, you mentioned you knew who was responsible for the murders."

Bruce reaches for the inside pocket of his black leather trench coat. Ambling away from Harleen, he pulls out the barrette. “It’s Ms. Ivy Pepper,” he informed, tossing the jewel on the oak wood desk. From his peripheral vision, he spots the painting of his past life lying face down on the desk. Tingling energy reverberates from his fingertips. He swiftly looks away.

Jeremiah squints in Bruce’s direction as he mentally searches through energetic thought forms and memories in Bruce’s mind and soul. A snow-white behemoth wolf manifests in Bruce’s thoughts. “A werewolf?” He asks disbelievingly, stomping towards Bruce and forcefully opening his trench coat. He anxiously pats the leather vest torn in claw marks. Flabbergasted he inquires, “You went after her?!”

“I am a hunter. It is my duty.” Bruce emphasized.

“You are mortal! That was extremely reckless of you. You could have been killed!” He growled, bright silver irises piercing dark ones.

Jerome rolls his eyes and scoffs. “A werewolf? _Pfft._ Impossible.”

The fire’s flickering flames glow and reflect on the emerald golden butterfly barrette. Harleen gazes at it hypnotizingly as she strolls over to the desk. She picks up the jewel and examines it between her fingertips. “Ivy…,” she whispered.

Jerome threw his hands up in disbelief and frustration. “If so, then tell me how the hell did she cross the enchanted borders around the woods?!”

“She’s a hybrid,” Bruce added, nonchalantly.

The three of them fell silent as their eyes shift to Bruce, begging for an explanation.

Bruce sighs. “As you are aware, a werewolf is a cursed beast of the full moon, except, there was no full moon tonight. She fully transformed due to another reason, possibly from fear, stress, or anger... I used a silver blade and it did not harm her. However, I used another blade with herbs that weakened her. She escaped into the woods, she will be not be returning anytime soon.”

“I suppose that explains why her scent was so unfamiliar to me,” Jeremiah pondered. He rests his elbow on the fireplace mantel and smooths his ebony green hair back as he contemplates the situation.

“She has magic in her blood. Ivy is most likely part wolf and part witch.” Bruce suggested, then shrugs. “Nonetheless, I have investigative work to do.”

Jeremiah shuts his eyes and clenches his jaws. “This is the werewolves doing. She is their secret weapon against us as part of their mission to reenter the city.”

Harleen was not paying attention to the men’s conversation, instead, her mind’s eye was engulfed by Ivy’s beauty. She remembers how elegant Ivy was in her peacock feathered gown at the masquerade ball. She has yet had the pleasure to properly meet her. Perhaps a tea party is in order. She hums. “Ivy’s hair is like wildfire, so shiny and captivating.” She giggles quietly to herself and then looks up at Bruce. “I wonder, is her fur the same color?” She asked interestingly.

Bruce was caught off guard by the question. He scratches the nape of his neck. “Uh, well…it was a mix.”

Jerome turns his head slowly to Harleen with furrowed brows. “What’s she to you?!” He asked, harshly.

She drops the barrette on the desk and lightly gasps. “Well, excuse me,” she said sarcastically, hand to her chest. She cackles, enjoying Jerome’s reaction. Her lacey fingers pinch his jutted chin. “Oh sweetheart, jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

Jeremiah cracks a small smile at Harleen’s comment. Yes, his brother is very well known for his jealous notions. It is not an attractive quality.

Surprisingly, Jerome relaxes at Harleen’s touch. He aggressively pulls her close by her waist and smacks a rough kiss on her lips lifting her slightly off her heels. “Mmm.”

Bruce looks away to find Jeremiah’s eyes staring at him intensely. Chills run up his spine, he exhales.

Jeremiah clears his throat. “Well, then. To conclude this unplanned ‘meeting’ of a sort. We understand that the werewolves are coming for us.”

Harleen and Jerome release from each other’s embrace as their attentions turn to Jeremiah.

“Ivy being one them, most likely leading the pack to take back this city,” Jerome adds.

Harleen’s smile falls and her eyes avert to the floor, she does not want Ivy has an enemy.

Jeremiah nods and continues, “Luckily we’ve expanded our clan in time, and added a new member to our family.” He smiles genuinely at Harleen. She bows and smiles in return. “And hopefully…” his eyes quickly and intensely turn back to Bruce. “another.”

Bruce’s eyelids flutter as a heatwave of anxiety rises to his neck and clouds his face.

“Now, please…leave us,” Jeremiah said politely to Harleen and Jerome as he points towards the door.

Jerome is disinclined to leave Bruce and Jeremiah alone. He glares, eyes shifting from one to the other, then, finally he clenches his teeth. “As you wish, brother.” He takes his bride’s hand and turns around, leading her to the library’s entrance. Before exiting, his eyes flash over to Bruce and in an ominous tone he says, “We are not done yet…hunter.”

Bruce gently nods, then, grinds his teeth and rolls his eyes as Jerome and Harleen walk out.

Jeremiah moves towards Bruce, turning his back to the library’s entrance. “You’ve come at a very unfortunate time,” he cautioned. His senses derailing in all directions. From down the hall where his brother and Harleen stroll and his clan scattered about various rooms, to the horde of newly created blood-sucking demons upstairs in the ballroom and the love of his life a foot away. “Fortuitously, they cannot trace you.” He is aware of Bruce’s lack of delectable aroma. The stealth essence still lingers over his aura.

Bruce leans back on the bookshelf, finally feeling safe enough to take a breath and put his guard down. His voice is a soft sound, a breath amongst the crackling of the fireplace. “I saw it.” His chest gently rises and falls as he tries to put together what he saw when he fainted. “I’ve been seeing the signs all along. I thought I fabricated it all and that I was losing my mind. The storm from the night of the masquerade was the same one the night I died. I saw…” He absentmindedly touches the flap of the leather trench coat. “The red rose. It reminds of the one you gave me near the garden. I saw the droplets of blood in its petals when we made love. _My_ blood.”

Jeremiah nods and blinks slowly, a small smile forming over his marble features. “Fascinating. Time is… but a mystery.” He steps closer to Bruce. “Allow me to explain. As I said before, Jerome and I were magicians, illusionists, thespians…” he chuckles. “In short, entertainers, during the sixteenth century. He was adamant about traveling the world and entertain others. He believed that to be our purpose. We were…” He pauses. A part of Jeremiah does not want to share about the twin bond or in this case, Jerome’s obsession with him and so, he skips it. “close.” The light of the roaring fire reflects over his glossy sheer eyes and some strands of his sleeked back ebony green hair. “Then, you came along.”

Bruce knew exactly where this was going. He must have gotten in the way and taken Jeremiah from Jerome. Come to separate that brotherly bond and break their plans. He huffs, throwing his head back.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I choose to want to leave my brother and that career behind. I did not want to travel anymore. I wanted to take you away from that abusive life of a blacksmith. We fell in love and I wanted to settle down, find a home and live the rest of my days with you. Consequently, Jerome took you from me.” Jeremiah explained.

The memories are distant and even nonexistent for Bruce. He does not know about this life and the feelings that came with it. However, it does not feel completely foreign to him. Deep in his soul, a voice tells him that he did indeed experience this.

Jeremiah slightly tilts his head to the side and stares curiously at the other. “Are you still disappointed with me?”

Bruce’s surroundings distort and blur, from the rococo furniture to the oak wood arches and columns, to the books and fireplace. Nothing exists except for the creature in front of him. His powerful gaze making it hard for Bruce to blink or look away. A familiar feeling comes to him, the hot tingling sensation on his skin that begs for his blood to be drawn out. It boils inside him with an urge to submit and remove the leather restraints blocking his flesh from feeding his lover. Words continue to come out in breaths. “I should be.”

Ghostly elongated fingers slowly reach towards Bruce’s face but, the tips never touch his rosy cheeks. “Ah, but, _can_ you?” Instead, the hand lowers to take and lift Bruce’s hand. He pushes the tight black leather sleeves down to the middle of his forearm. Holding the arm to his mouth, he closes his eyes, finally allowing Bruce’s eyelids to close as well, and then, drags his lips over the skin. He whimpers with a low growl. “ _Bruce_ …,” he breathes dizzyingly from the aroma finally coming to the surface. “Will you deny me such _sweet_ …” he inhales the scent of honeysuckles and swallows. “Affection?”

Bruce lightly gasps from the chilly breath that disperses over his skin and those plumped lips that unnaturally blush into deep scarlet.

Jeremiah listens closely until he could hear the flow of blood rushing through Bruce’s veins. Like a river. An aching thirst rises from his hollow chest to his throat. He instinctively curls his lips back and flashes his canines. Silver eyes glance across to see Bruce softly panting with his eyelids low and lips slightly parted. A _beautiful_ man.

He gently pulls away, his fingers enfold in between Bruce’s fingers, then, pulls his arm over his chest, where his human heart once was. “Listen to me carefully…” He leans over with his other hand pressed against the bookshelf near Bruce’s head. “I’ve prowled throughout this world for over 200 years as a vampire. I wandered the nights and crossed lands and oceans to find you.” He squeezes the hand he hugs. “I do not stand before you with a mortal’s love.” He lightly shakes his head. The white irises piercing into Bruce’s soft dark ones. “It is my _soul_ that pursues yours. My soul may be damned and dark as a blackened cloud over a night sky, a void of nothingness, but…” His face leans closer towards the other’s, eyes shifting to those inviting moist lips. “I still feel love. I know what it is and desire it…with _you_.”

In an instant, he feverishly strokes Bruce’s lips with his own.

Their lips come together and enfold over one another in a fiery and passionate kiss. They nuzzle each other’s face and neck as their lips drag and pepper kisses on parts of exposed skin. Bruce can feel an energetic release coming off his chest, face, and lips, as it’s being consumed by Jeremiah.

Two souls of opposite ends. The light and the dark.

Bruce’s knees buckle. Jeremiah hums then quickly drops the hand he was leaning on and wraps it around Bruce’s waist to steady him.

“ _Ah, Jeremiah…I…,”_ he softly sighs over their lips, as his free hand comes up to clutch on the silver vest. A low purr continues to vibrate through the vampire’s throat, Bruce can feel it as intensely as he can hear it. His tongue weakly works into the other’s mouth, but, Jeremiah swirls his tongue possessively, taking full control of the moment.

When Bruce begins to gasp for air, Jeremiah pulls back to give Bruce a chance to breathe, an unfortunate human necessity.

Bruce’s breath hitches and then, he notices the whites in Jeremiah’s eyes are bloodshot. _Oh, no._

Jeremiah pulls Bruce’s exposed forearm from his chest to his mouth and _bites_ near the wrist. He drinks the pure and delectably sweet life essence from Bruce’s freshly punctured wounds. He hums delightfully, squeezing Bruce’s arm close to his mouth and gripping hard over the back of his forearm.

_“Ah!”_ Bruce groans, snapping back to his senses. He tries to pull away but, Jeremiah growls. He gulps. “Jeremiah _stop_ , this is dangerous!”

But, as soon as Jeremiah realized it was a mistake, it was too late, he heard footsteps from a distance and worse- the growling of thirsty newborn vampires. How could he allow his animalistic instinct to take over in such a manner? He pulls away steadfast, a few drops of blood trail down the corners of his mouth.

“It’s too late, the others…” Jeremiah’s eyes widen. They are coming closer. “You need to leave _now_.”

Bruce blinks and nods.

A high cackle erupts from behind Jeremiah, Bruce looks over Jeremiah’s shoulder. His intense deep brown eyebrows come together while his eyes narrow into a glare.

Jerome and a few other vampires were standing in the library by the doorway.

Jeremiah quickly turns, covering Bruce behind him.

“ _Ha ha ha_ , Oh, brother dearie,” Jerome’s smile stretches wide across his face. Teeth and canines are bright and showy. “Sometimes... especially when you allow your delicate and pathetic emotions to take over, you are…a damn _fool,”_ he continues to chuckle from this hilarious dilemma. He puts his hand over his mouth and pretends to be shocked. “ _Oh!_ Did you honestly believe that Mr. Wayne, the hunter, your reincarnated _lover_ …,” he said the last word in disgust, “…was really going to leave our home… _alive_?”

The entire time Jerome spoke, Jeremiah was not listening, he was contemplating all the different routes around the house and plans to escape and protect Bruce from the horde of thirsty demons.

The vampires in the room in addition to many other’s down the hall were growling and hissing.

Bruce clenches his fists, he is _ready_. He is ahead of Jeremiah, he knows exactly what he is going to do.

He was **_born_** for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets recap:  
> \- Ivy is a hybrid who will soon lead the werewolves into a war with the vamps to take their rightful place back in Gotham.  
> \- Bruce finally knows about his reincarnation and connected his memories. The STORM the night of the masquerade in chp. 1 was a sign from the night he died including the bleeding ROSE he saw after he made love with Jeremiah in chp. 6.  
> \- Harleen is getting married to Jerome and going through with the ritual- becoming the Valeska's VAMPIRESS.   
> \- Jerome has a crazy obsession/ twin bond with his brother and refuses Bruce to enter the family.
> 
> Music that inspired this story, if you're interested :D --> Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/jennytargaryen/playlist/6O6PufnIb4v2iHV8UtxsNZ?si=PSkWhE11TBejoiqV1W4ivA
> 
> Thank you soooooooo much for reading and coming back. It really means a lot to me, especially now. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Good luck with YOUR writing or other hobbies you pursue! See you soon! xoxo :D


	11. Children of Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is trapped in a mansion with bloodthirsty vampires. Will he escape Jerome's grasp?

The candle flames on the golden chandelier atop the Valeska’s library stopped flickering. The iridescent halos unnaturally fade. Even the dancing yellow ribbons of light in the fireplace reduced into feeble sparks. The air in the room was consumed and replaced with wintriness from the growing shadows of the dead.

Among the coming darkness, an eerie silence filled the room. This _silence_ suffocated Bruce. It squeezed his lungs and compressed his temples. The only hint of a sound was the puff of his breath and the pounding of his heart. The vampires stood immobile as statues draped in darkness with bloodshot eyes and snowy flesh. Neon blue, jade and violet irises pierce in his direction with a crimson radiance denoting their thirst for blood.

Bruce can now see the true nature of the _vampire_.

How their metaphysical and malevolent powers overshadow their surroundings.

Bruce stood close between the wall of books and his lover. The adrenaline rush born out a human’s instinct for survival takes over his senses. He swallows the lump of doubt swelling in his throat.

To center himself, he closes his eyes and envisions his father twirling his mustache and rocking by the fireside. Bruce is a wee child in a suit doodling with multiple crayons in one hand as he looks up from the rug. Father’s eyes always glossy and filled with stories of the supernatural. He reminds his son for the millionth time. “My boy, _fear_ is a choice we make. An emotion we _choose_ to feel. Learn from its distresses but do not let it destroy you.”

Dark lashes open with newfound confidence. Bruce takes one last deep breath.

_Jeremiah, I know you can hear me. Here is the plan…_

Jeremiah stays still and vigilant but, at the same time watches Bruce’s plan unfold into dreamlike images in his mind.

Jerome’s sharp and unnerving laughter breaks the silence, making Bruce’s heart skip a beat. Jerome extends his arm towards Jeremiah. Long and thin pale fingers curl into the center of his palm, beckoning the young human. “Enough of this nonsense. Hand him over, brother.”

The other vampires-the performers- that live with the Valeska’s, are not in the room. It is possible that Jerome urged them to stay out of this affair and protect Ms. Quinzel. Keep her safe in her room. The bloodthirsty demons in the library at this moment are neonates, freshly transformed from the ballroom. They have yet been disciplined by their masters. Thus, there is no use of Jeremiah to convince them to stay clear from Bruce. They smell fresh blood and that is all they crave for.

After seconds of Jeremiah’s lack of response that felt like minutes, Jerome’s playful nature quickly shifted into a threatening one. His grin curls back into a snarl and his hands ball into fists. The emerald glow in his eyes mirror the dying flames in the hearth.

Bruce stealthily opens his trench coat and reaches for a small metal ball attached to his utility belt. He mentally shouts at Jeremiah. _Now!_

It would be ridiculous to assume that Bruce’s human abilities are a match for a supernatural creature. However, a _hunter_ has the ability and training to detect weakness and use effective tools to defeat them. Bruce rolls the smoke bomb into the middle of the room. While he dashes towards the library’s open doors, he swings his hood over his head and pulls the neckerchief over his nose.

In the smallest unit of time, the vampires sensed Bruce’s movement in the air before he even made them. They scurried, blowing out the final glimpses of light in the room. The creatures charged at Bruce with heavy growls and screams.

The moment passed so quickly that Bruce’s brain only registered some images. His eyes did not divert from the open doors. That was his goal. On the other end, his peripheral vision saw horrifying images in a matter of seconds. Vicious glowing eyes, sharp white fangs, and long pale arms flung and snapped in his direction _but_ , Jeremiah’s body shields him all the way.

Jeremiah slightly lifted Bruce with one arm to get him out of the room faster. His opposing arm shoved bodies across the room, breaking furniture, and decorative elements in the process. Books dropped with heavy bumps from broken wooden shelves as thick sticky blood splattered across the walls.

In addition to Jeremiah’s physical protection, the bombs greyish indigo smoke infused with sage and magical properties circled and clouded the room like ghosts. The creatures that inhaled this toxin, screamed from its burning effect. Ink black veins branched up their translucent necks and cheeks as they fell onto their knees, squeezing their throats and coughing out blood.

Bruce gasps from the unexpected tickle of bodily fluids over his neckerchief. Jeremiah had no other choice but to rip the throats of some the wildest vampires. Heads with shocked and vengeful faces rolled on the vintage rug in front of Bruce. He skips over them, inhaling sharply until he reaches the door frame. His boots stomp steadfast down the hallway towards the back of the mansion. Meanwhile, Jeremiah holds the others off as long as he possibly can until Bruce makes his escape.

The hall is not as dark as the library, several sconces on the maroon and gold walls light the path. Bruce pants heavily as he bumps into side tables and vases along the way. He could still hear the chilling screams and rumbles from the vampires in the library. His heart vibrates in his throat now. The double backdoors from which he originally entered is coming into view and growing with every step.

Beads of sweat drip down his forehead as he extends his arms. Fingers inches away from touching the knobs.

Suddenly, the sound of wailing creatures stops.

“There you are,” a deep voice snickered creepily in the hall.

An impenetrable force hooks around Bruce’s neck and cuts his windpipe. He struggles like an animal caught in a net. He gets knocked off balance and lunged backward from the direction he was heading. The backdoors he was so close to reaching, disappears in seconds.

In a blink of an eye, Bruce was dragged out of the hallway and into a familiar open corridor. Behind him lies the grand marble double staircase with its bloodstream central carpet that leads up to the ballroom. The area appears completely different compared to the night of the masquerade ball. In the dark, the angel wall sculptures appear as demonic beasts with pointy bat-like wings. The flames amongst the sconces and candelabras burn low in this part of the mansion as well. In front of him, is the passage of the naked marble statues and arched windows that extend to the mansion’s massive front double wood doors.

A different group of vampires in causal dresses and suits were standing around. Here they are, the performers. They turn their inquisitive pale faces at Bruce.

Jerome shoves Bruce in the middle and then kicks the back of his knee. Consequently, he drops on his hands and knees over the shiny moonlit floor. “ _Urgh_ ,” he groaned. Jerome must have fled the room faster than the rest.

Jerome pinches and lifts the front of his ash gray trousers to bend down in front of Bruce. His expression was unamused and irritated. He delicately brushes back a ginger strand dangling over his forehead and with the other hand, lifts Bruce’s chin. “Clever trick,” he grumbled through gritted teeth.

Bruce huffs through his nose and glares into those sinful bright eyes. Suddenly, another force strikes him. This time across his cheek. It did not feel like a hand, rather, a brick wall with the speed of a train. His head swings dramatically to one side as he grunts and spits out blood.

“ _Oops_ , my hand slipped,” Jerome gasped, pretending to be apologetic.

The vampires crouched and hissed at the irresistible smell of Bruce’s blood on the floor.

Jerome lifts Bruce back onto his feet from the coat’s neckline, then, spins Bruce’s body around so that Bruce’s back is pressed against his chest. He uninvitingly forces his pointer finger into Bruce’s mouth and then, laughs wickedly when Bruce tries to bite his finger off. “Oh Bruce, you would make a fine pet.”

Two vampires crouch around Bruce’s blood, humming, desperately wanting to taste it. Jerome kicks them away. “Know your place!” He exclaimed, emerald eyes glowing. The creatures screeched and then crawled back into the shadows. When they moved backward, it was if they were moving back in time, their bodies defied gravity, and their cries echoed without a cause.

“ _Tsk tsk_ , such manners.” Jerome pulls Bruce’s hood down and yanks his hair back with his other hand as he pulls his finger out. He examines the shimmery crimson blood mixed in saliva over his unmarked translucent skin. He extends his tongue and licks it up, then, sucks his finger obscenely. “ _Mmmm…_ ” he hummed loudly. “I must say, the blood of a hunter is much, _much_ sweeter,” he chuckled hazily. He jerks Bruce’s head to the side to expose his neck and leans in baring his fangs.

Suddenly, the snickers and bustling in the corridor halt into a collective silence. The vampires sensed a dominant and ominous presence. They shift their gazes into the pitch blackness of the hallway below the double staircase. A deep guttural growl reverberates out from it. Consequently, the vampires cower down and blend into the shadowy corners while others hid behind the marble balusters of the stairway. Only their luminous violet and blue eyes can be seen in it.

From within the darkness, Jeremiah slowly emerged. The dim lighting of the nearby candelabras flashes over his menacing features.

Bruce immediately stopped squirming. He stood transfixed as his eyes widen alarmingly. "Jere…," he murmured, after swallowing densely. He has never seen his lover this way before. An insidious aura embraces him. Displaying his unique vampire nature and dark soul.

Jeremiah does not step out with his usual straight and sophisticated posture, rather, he approaches Bruce and Jerome with shoulders lifted and bent forward. Similar to a panther stalking its prey. The veins in Jeremiah's forehead bulge over his moon gray skin flecked in blood. Devil red lips shudder over pointy fangs. His eyebrows arched and pulled together over his blazing crimson and silver eyes.

Apart from everyone else, Jerome ignored his brother's rage. "At last. Have you finished ripping through half of our recruits?! It'll take some time for them to recover! They need training," he complained.

Bloodstained the elegant fabric of Jeremiah's white long-sleeves and sterling silver vest. Even his pearl necktie was skewed and dyed.

Jerome scrutinizes his brother's appearance disapprovingly, then, sighs heavily, eyes shifting back to the feeble human in his control. "Well…I simply couldn't deny them such … _fresh blood_ ," he teased, snickering quietly as the tip of his nose edges across Bruce's jawline.

Another demonic growl releases from Jeremiah's lips, coming from the deepest part of his abdomen.

Bruce can feel the growl’s vibration in his own chest now, forcing the hairs on the back of his neck upright.

Jerome hissed and faintly growls back, "You knew this would come. Don't challenge me!" Then, he noticed his brother holding something. He points with his chin. "What's that I see?"

Jeremiah's face relaxes momentarily. The tip of the dagger gleams as he raises and inspects it in his hand. A special dagger he has had lying amongst the other relics inside his coffin for centuries. "You were…uncharacteristically right, brother," voice deep and sinister. He glanced over at him. "I _did_ conspire with the demon priestess behind your back."

The green in Jerome's eyes intensified as the hint of a smirk over his lips fade away.

"See…" He slightly straightens himself and rakes his ruffled ebony green bangs back from the side of his forehead. "I _too_  knew this day would come." He balances the blade in his steady hand. "This dagger is unlike any other. It was bewitched by the highest order. It can end immortality. In other words,… end a vampire."

The vampires in the shadows whined and hissed at the news. Bruce slightly jumps. He had forgotten they were there due to being shocked and mesmerized by his lover. Then, his forehead creased as he studies the dagger in Jeremiah's hand.

According to a hunter's research, vampires are cursed with the seven sins and immortality. A demon in the human plane. Contrary to widespread belief, to eliminate a vampire from existence is quite difficult. Hunters have managed to lock them away in coffins with holy objects and powerful spells from witches over centuries. But, most importantly, a hunter's duty is to slow them down during a quarrel. For instance, cutting their heads off, stabbing them with holy or magical objects, and many other defenses to protect the common folks. However, vampires, especially those that belong in clans, can recover over some time. Their bodies must be buried in the soil of where they were created. Soon enough, all the neonatal vampires from the library will be buried in the moors surrounding the Valeska's mansion to be reborn.

When Jeremiah mentioned the demon priestess again, Bruce's fingertips tingled, reminding him of the hooded figure in the grimoire he skimmed through earlier tonight. He is now eager to go back home and do some more research about this demon and the dagger. Well, that is…if he escapes.

"It was made especially for me. End Bruce… and you end me along with him," Jeremiah promised.

Jerome snorts. "How poetic! How _Shakespearean_!" He waves a hand in the air mockingly. He thinks his brother is teasing, another trick. "You wouldn't," he countered, grip clamping and yanking Bruce's sweaty curls.

Jeremiah lifts his chin and points the end of the blade to the side of his bulging throat. "Test me," he challenged, voice deep again. He gently pushes, skin caving in. "Death…is a _friend_."

**"NO JEREMIAH**! _Please, stop_!" Bruce shouted, hoarsely. Jerome's hand quickly covers his mouth. He cannot lose Jeremiah- his lover- his _soulmate_ \- like this, he refuses. He carefully reaches into his trench coat for an orb on his utility belt while the brothers continue to dispute.

All aspects of Jerome's merry nature wash away when his brother threatened to kill himself. His grip around Bruce loosens a bit. He even steps slightly forward as if to stop his brother's act. Then, he shamefully shakes his head, flabbergasted by the situation. "You would end your vampire life for…," he glances down at Bruce. "HIM?! All that we’ve accomplished together over the centuries will be gone. Ash!” He scoffs from utter disappointment. “For what?” He shakes Bruce in his arm and cringes. “For a measly specimen you only just met!"

"We haven't just met. Haven't you been paying attention?" Jeremiah responded nonchalantly, keeping his position steady.

Bruce and Jeremiah have already met in another life and are reuniting in this one. The rage bubbling in Jerome's chest turned into something else after being reminded that Bruce is a reincarnation and about them being soulmates. He gazes at his brother with an almost human-like sadness.

"I warned you _not_ to threaten me again, but you continue to underestimate," Jeremiah recalled.

"And you…" Jerome began, voice softer than it's ever been. " _continue_ to underestimate my love for you."

Bruce slightly glances behind him, curious to see Jerome's face, wondering if it's still him. The throaty wrath in his voice was replaced with sorrow. The mask is off, yet, he remains somewhat mysterious. The words and emotions come from some human instinct deep, _deep_ in his soul. Perhaps, from an archive of his human consciousness.

Jeremiah takes a needless deep breath as he lowers the dagger. Crimson silver eyes soften over his brother’s almost innocent visage. It reminds him of old times, that exists in his mind as dream-like images.  Ones he concentrated so hard to never forget. When they chased each other along the open fields as children in crummy torn overalls. Dressed alike as always. Livening their spirits right before their theatrical twin performance in a new town. He now sees that same freckled human face. "Jerome…" he exhaled, voice slowly coming back to its natural smooth tone. "We are bonded by blood. We are family," he reassured. "Nothing or no one can ever come between that. Despite your impulses and ruthless nature… I _do_ love you, brother." They share a special bond as if their souls were created together and split at birth. As much as Jeremiah can come to hate him, their connection is unbreakable, and he will not turn his back on family.

Bruce was hoping that Jeremiah would end his brother with the dagger and be done with it, but he can now see that the situation is much more complicated. He knows that Jerome won't let him go and Jeremiah will not end his brother, therefore, Bruce must escape by his own means and tactics.

The brothers stare at each other, hoping to come to an agreement. However, Jerome feels threatened by Bruce. Perhaps his rage is driven by jealousy. In the abyss of his disturbed mind, he honestly believes there is no one good enough for his little brother. Moreover, he wants Jeremiah to _himself_. He is conflicted now and ashamed for bringing his shield down for that moment. Jerome is touched by his brother’s confession but, that doesn’t change the fact that Jeremiah is adamant about making Bruce his eternal lover. The same soul that almost took his brother away from him centuries ago. No matter the reason, Jerome is not letting Bruce escape. Revenge clouds his features as he glares back at Jeremiah, he mutters in a deep voice again, “ _Lies_.”

At the very moment that Bruce felt Jerome's hold squeezing him to attack, he swiftly brings his hand up with the clear glass orb in his palm. The same orb he took to the masquerade. It is filled with holy water and unique acid content that is dangerous to vampires. The orb breaks over Jerome’s face. Bruce is rapidly shoved to the floor as Jerome shrieks and tumbles backward.

The vampires in the shadows shrieked along with him as they scattered the area like bats.

**_“AHHHHH!!”_** Jerome screeched and growled in burning agony. He falls on his knees with his hands clasped over his face. The steam seeping through the spaces between his fingers. The pain was so profound that he felt in the center of his brain. His pale skin wrinkles and melts behind his trembling hands.

The holy acid mixture will deform his face and burn him for weeks. It’ll take some time for him to recover.

Bruce does not prolong his stay, he is back on his feet in an instant and running down the hall of statues. He opens his trench coat to pull out the grapple gun and points it at one of the tall arched windows. The claw hook shoots with rapid speed and precision through the windowpane, shattering its moon kissed glass. Millions of tiny glistening fragments sprinkled over the statues and marble floors. The hook claws around a balcony’s baluster as he reels in the wire and swings out of the premises.

“ _Gahh..ugh_!” Bruce groaned croakily, as he hits and rolls down the stony path at the side of the mansion that leads to the gardens and horses’ paddock. Before he even had the chance to move or take a breath, he felt his body being lifted and carried away. In the next second, he opens his eyes and finds himself standing further away from the mansion on moonlit moors. He clutches his chest, gasping for air. He could still hear the wails and screams of vampires from the distance. Smoky huffs escape his lips in the dead of night. He can finally breathe. The windy chill and grassy scent flow inside him, opening his lungs. Being surrounded by death suffocated him.

"Bruce!"

He quickly turns around to find Jeremiah riding Persephone towards him. A full white stallion, a light- a _saint_ \- in the overwhelming darkness. Jeremiah jumps off and quickly reaches out to mount Bruce on top of her.

"Wai…. I…Jere-.” Bruce does not have a chance to say anything. Syllables caught in breaths as he is handed the horse’s leather reins.

"You must go!" Jeremiah shouted. The veins over his face retreated and the glow of crimson around his silver irises are slowly fading. Now that Bruce is safe.

"WAIT! W-hen will I-I see you," he stuttered, breathlessly. Frankly, he is worried about Jeremiah, now that his brother’s rage is at full capacity. However, his concern is a bit absurd because the one he should be concerned about is himself. Jeremiah did not burn Jerome in holy acid. He gulps and gently shakes his head when he realized what he was thinking.

Jeremiah manages a small smile. He reaches for Bruce’s gloved hand and kisses the back of it. "Soon," he promised.

The kiss was compelling. His bloody red full lips gave off a chill that penetrated through the gloves fabric. Bruce felt the kiss as if it was directly on his skin. He softly exhales, slowly returning from his stupor.

They gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity, yet, lasted only a few seconds. The expression on Bruce’s flushed anxious face and Jeremiah’s blood specked attentive face confirmed their loyalty to each other. How they would go above and beyond. Come what may.

Jeremiah breaks the gaze as he moves to Persephone’s bridle. Eyelids softly closing as he rests his forehead on her muzzle. He mentally gives her urgent instructions. Shortly after, he pulls back and taps her flank. “ _Adesso_!” (“Now!” in Italian)

Bruce inhaled sharply when the horse lifted her front hooves and neighed before she bolted. He leans forward on her chest to cover his face from the sharp wind. He glances back and watches Jeremiah's body shrink and disappear in seconds. The Valeska’s gothic structure fades in the mist, with only it’s pointed arches poking low clouds in the sky.

Persephone speeds across the moors and through some trees. Spiky outstretched branches stab him along the way. He feels nauseous from being dragged at lightning speed and stressed from almost being devoured. He spits out blood, jaws swelled from the slap, stomach aching, throat dry and clenching and vision hazy. He weakly squints at the fast-moving world around him. He sees the faces and glowing eyes of vampires haunting him in the gloom and between tree trunks. Quickly, he shuts his eyes and whispers a prayer in Latin to center himself while he rests his head on the horse’s chest, trusting that she knows where to go.

In a soft rhythm, he whispers a protection prayer, “… _et insídias diáboli ésto præsídium…”_ closing his eyes and seeing his mother, teaching him the words long ago and right before a hunt.

Persephone gallops to Wayne manor through the swallowing night. He could still hear and feel Jerome’s growls and screams in his head. Bruce has never _ever_ felt threatened by the dark as he has tonight.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter for part 1 is next!!!! Get ready! :D 
> 
> Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine.


	12. A Light Soul's Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce makes a life-altering decision.

                 The sun peeked over the horizon and across Gotham city. Glimmering over pinnacles and towering gothic structures. Rousing the hidden hues inside the stone walls and the amber in autumn foliage. The iridescent light bathes over Wayne manor’s pointed arches and through the rose windows, pass the halls and corridors. Its warmth and radiance purifying last night’s dread.

Bruce Wayne sluggishly saunters over the moors behind the manor. Sunlight pierces through the dissipating fog, as he pulls Persephone’s rein towards Wayne manor’s ancestral cemetery. He did not sleep soundly last night, he tossed and turned restlessly. His mind raced over and over about the night’s events.

The blessing sun finds Bruce, highlighting the dark mocha strands of his disheveled hair and over his rugged eyes and flushed cheeks, then, continues over the horse’s white mane. He closes his eyes and takes in the crisp morning air. The refreshing peppermint scent fills his chest, denoting that wintry days are coming.

Bruce opens the graveyard’s wrought iron fence and strolls pass multiple headstones and holy statues. All weathered over generations and generations of the Wayne family. Fallen leaves paint the path and swirl in the howling wind as leafless twisted branches canopy over the graves.

He slows his footing and turns to Persephone, weary eyes melting into hers as his lips curl into a soft smile. “You were brilliant last night. Your efforts to return me home safely deserves a reward. Surely Alfred can fix you something delicious.”

The horse snickered, ruffling her mane in response.

Bruce gently chuckles as he pets her forehead and rubs under her chin. Then, he sighs, lips falling back to a line. “Wait here.”

He takes a few steps away from the white stallion and towards his parent’s burial ground atop a small hill. When he reached the top a chilly gust of wind blew by him, ruffling his curls and flapping his ebony wool cloak.

A soaring angel statue, extending her feathery wings high into the heavens sits behind two headstones resting side by side and shaped into holy crosses. Over time, moss has grown over the stone’s corners and edges. Amongst the shrubbery, tiny white flowers blossomed through it.

Bruce swallows thickly, sensing a familiar ache in his chest spreading across his veins and internal organs.

He reads the epitaph for the hundredth time.

Thomas Wayne.

Martha Wayne.

He dragged his boots over the dry grass until he stood between the slanted and eroded headstones wedged into the earth. He reaches for his father’s golden watch inside his black satin vest and rubs it gently in the palm of his hand. A coping mechanism.

Bruce never left his parent’s funeral. Regardless of being a supernatural hunter and an elite member of Gotham’s society, he continues to be haunted by that terrible day. He remembers Alfred’s comforting hand on his shoulder as he glared down through sweat and tears. Surrounded by members of the hunter’s society, close friends and strangers. He can still see it. Men lowering the wooden caskets into the ground. His narrow eyes swelling in tears but, refusing to blink because he did not want to miss a thing. Crimson and ivory roses slowly thrown inside. Petals breaking apart when it hit the lids.

He blinks, bringing himself back to reality as he bends down and tucks the watch back in. He removes his gloves to grip over both headstones. He lowers his head, fingertips pushing into the rock as it scrapes his flesh. A few silent tears stream down and across his nose.

"Mother…Father…," he began, lips trembling and struggling to find the right words. His mind is a whirlwind of concerns. After a moment of silence, he completely breaks down. Knees falling and digging into the soil as he covers his face to muffle his hard sobs. Until finally, he drops his hands and confesses, "I love him." Then, paused, realizing the words that flowed so naturally from his mouth. "I am at a crossroads. I do not know what to do. Should I follow my destiny as a hunter?”

Should the lineage of hunters end with Bruce Wayne? Should all the training and protection of being a hunter- a valued member in a city of monsters- tracing back generations, be _sacrificed,_ for…true love?

“Or should I…” He is much too ashamed to bring up such a nonsensical question. Or to ask for his parent’s blessings for him to turn into a creature of the night. The opposition to what he and his family represent. Dark vs. Light. _Especially_ , over their graves.

Should he sacrifice it all to become a vampire and live the rest of eternity with his soulmate?

"There must be another way,” he whispered into the wind.

Bruce turns his teary gaze up into the sky, dark wet lashes fluttering at the light. He closes his lids and melts over the sun’s warm blanket. Something he would be sacrificing if he turns himself into the darkness.

Suddenly, in the wind, a soft and sweet voice echoes, “You were always fond of the dark.”

Bruce’s thick dark brows come together when he felt a delicate hand on his shoulder. When he slowly turns around, he nearly goes blind by the light. He gasps, bringing his hands up to shade his eyes as he slowly gets back up on his feet. In between his fingers and inside the sharp brilliance, he sees a face.

It’s his _mother._ Her spirit _._ Martha Wayne encircled by incandescent white light.

She smiles vividly at her son, even giggling a bit from pure joy. Blonde tresses glowing and in her usual elegant updo.

Bruce blinks rapidly as he clutches his chest with one hand and shades the light with the other. “Mo…,” he mumbled, gentle tears escaping from the corners of his eyes. He can hardly breathe from the utter shock. The ache he felt dwelling inside him, creates a tingling and jittery sensation throughout his being.

Behind Martha is Thomas with his signature smirk and squinty eyes.

Bruce can barely see them, only glimpses in the overwhelming radiance.

Thomas and Martha’s lips do not move but Bruce can feel their message in his heart. They are extremely proud of their son. For taking the responsibility as the last supernatural hunter when all was lost. For coming back strong after their death to protect the good civilians of Gotham. And, much more.

Bruce stands on their grave, completely spellbound by their ethereal presence. His knees buckle and his hands and feet go numb in the process. He can feel their love showering over him like golden rain and pouring into his soul. It is reviving a part of him that was asleep for quite some time.

Martha steps closer and places her transparent hand on Bruce’s cheek. “My son, you were _always_ fond of the dark.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, going back to a cherished memory.

“Do you not remember?” Her voice kind and angelic. “While children placed plates of cookies under Christmas trees, _you_ would place one in the closet or under your bed,” she scoffed, gleefully.

Bruce laughed with a sniff, remembering how desperately he hoped to find a creature nibbling on his cookies during the night.

“You said…if you were kind to monsters than they would be kind in return,” she reminded. A lesson she continued to embrace and remind him as he grew.

He slowly opens his eyes to find his mother’s countenance much closer and clearer, her brilliant ocean eyes piercing into his over her puffy high cheekbones. “Turning yourself into the dark is not what truly concerns you.” She sighs. “It is giving up the _light_.”

Bruce nods gently as he brings a hand up to cup his own cheek, hoping to feel her hand.

Thomas’s voice echoes behind her. “Light and dark. Hmm…it is much more complicated than that. They are symbiotic. One cannot exist without the other.” He huffs heavily, struggling to explain.

Bruce is dazed by this spiritual experience and now confused by his parent’s guidance. “ _Wa…I…uh?_ ” he does not know what to say.

Martha drops her hand and continues to smile sweetly. “You can have both. However, we must make sacrifices at times to _live._ You love him, you had to have him.” She delightfully giggles with her hands in prayer position over her lips.

Bruce gets the idea that she knows so much more now. His parents are not mystified by his lover being a vampire. It all seems trivial to them.

“Your souls are intertwined. Belong to one another,” she confirmed. “You can live a hundred lifetimes and you will still fall in love with him and him to you. It cannot be avoided. Your soul responds to his, even though you’re in terrible circumstances.”

Bruce’s lips were parted the entire time. Taking in uneven breaths, trying to calm himself and not blink through the inevitable tears.

She continues, “However, what you decide to do with your life is up to you. You reincarnated because the last life you had did not suit you. You were not able to thrive in your natural talent. You were fated to be born in the Wayne family so you could become who you were always meant to be.”

Bruce gasps for air and nearly drops to his knees. What is she saying? His vision blurs as he body weakens.

She points to the middle of his chest, glowing it in the process.

“Follow your heart Darling, but, remember your destiny.” Her smile slowly falls while her eyes swell. “We must go. I love you.” Her final words were a gentle whisper.

Suddenly, Bruce straightens himself and nearly stumbles forward. “Wait!” He shouted, hands outreaching and fingers curling through Martha’s transparent ones as she steps back. Thomas and Martha blend into the light, returning to an all-knowing dimension and fade.

Bruce takes a powerful deep breath. During his exhale, the holy light his parents came with surrounds him and swirls inside him, taking all his distresses and pain away, leaving him rejuvenated and renewed.

 

* * *

 

 

In Wayne Manor, Mr. Pennyworth prepares mealtime for when the master returns. The aroma of freshly cooked sausage eggs and bacon filled the kitchen and traveled into the breakfast room. The sunlight shines through the foggy windows and over his gray hair. He hums merrily to himself as he removes buttered golden crumpets from the skillet and onto a silver platter. The tea kettle whistles with its steam swirling into the sun’s glow. When Alfred removed the kettle and turned the burner off, he heard a firm knock on the front door. He glanced behind his shoulders curiously. “Master Bruce back already?” He murmured to himself.

Alfred makes way to the front while drying his hands on his apron. When he opened the doors, he stood stunned by the guest standing before him.

“Master Jeremiah Valeska,” he greeted. “Did not expect to see you this _early_ morning.”

Jeremiah’s rosy red lips stretch into a genuine smile. His eyes crinkle at the corners behind pitch-black sunglass lenses. He does not appear to be irritated by the gentle morning light caressing his sensitive skin, _yet_. He bows forward in his frock coat and midnight blue vest and necktie as he removes his top hat.

Alfred bowed his head in return and instantly noticed a blossoming white rose in his hand. “I’m afraid, Master Bruce has yet to return,” Alfred informed.

“I am aware of that.” Jeremiah gently removes his glasses to uncover his vampiric silvery eyes. “I came to see you.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

*

Alfred leads Jeremiah into the breakfast area and points at the round wood table. “Please, sit. May I offer you some freshly brewed tea?” He quickly scoffs and waves the question away. “Disregard. Though, I am afraid we don’t have freshly squeezed blood in a pitcher for you,” he chuckled.

“Well, you can always pour some of _your_ blood in a glass and I’ll be content,” Jeremiah responded, sincerely. Alfred turns to him with wide eyes. Jeremiah chortles at the look on his face. “I was being facetious.” He carefully sits by the table with the Gotham Gazette laid out and scans the room’s antiques and paintings.

“Hmph.” Alfred’s heart was at his throat for nearly a few seconds but, another part of him assured that the vampire _was_ indeed teasing. He sits comfortably across the creature. “Ah, that’s right. You have never visited Wayne manor.” He pursed his lips, “Well, except for the _bedroom_ of course.”

Jeremiah sensed sarcasm, but, his grin did not waver. He clears his throat from slight humiliation. “Yes…well, forgive me that was…inappropriate. Did you receive the bedsheets?” He inquired.

“Yes. Fine linen. Thank you.”

Alfred and Jeremiah sat awkwardly for a while. Shortly after, Jeremiah parts his lips to begin the conversation but, Alfred holds a hand up to stop him. “Now, before you begin, would you kindly refrain from reading my thoughts? It is intrusive and rude. Including the usage of any vampiric charms.”

Jeremiah snorts softly, a grin spreading across his face again. He is beginning to like the old man. “Tempting…” He squints with a smirk. “But, I’ll do my best,” he promised, folding his hands together over his crossed knee as he comfortably leans back into the chair.

“Bruce has informed me about last night’s events. From the painting you showed him to the war with the werewolves and witches _and…,”_ he raises his voice, “how your brother nearly killed him.” Alfred’s tired eyes pierced confidently into silver ones. Displaying his disappointment.

The man’s tone changed, and Jeremiah noticed with every word spoken. His rosy red grin slowly falls as he nods, confirming Alfred’s report. “All true.”

Alfred’s face remains stern for the rest of the conversation. Frankly, he is exhausted from mending Bruce’s claw mark and jaw injuries, and not to mention, comforting him from mental distress all night. “I’ll be honest, I am not particularly fond of you, mate. Being that you are…”

“The embodiment of death and all that is evil. A vampire,” Jeremiah interjected. “I don’t blame you. According to ancient texts, that _is_ how others perceive us, but…that is not true for us all. Some of us still hold on to human consciousness.”

Alfred studied the vampire carefully. Anyone can tell he is not human. How the moment he walked into the manor, he created a coldness in the atmosphere that was not there before. How his chest and shoulders stay completely still from the lack of breathing. How his features appear perfectly etched and abnormally pale. However, what captivates Alfred the most, are those hypnotic silver eyes that never blink. “How can you prove you are different? That you haven’t already charmed me or used your vampiric nature to control Bruce and myself?”

Jeremiah exhales frustratingly. “Mr. Pennyworth, a creature like myself will not engage in a civilized conversation. My kind seeks blood and power. I could devour you in an instant.”

Alfred gulps as he watches those eyelids widen and irises brighten. Then, he sighs heavily bringing his hand up to rub his forehead.

“But I can assure you,  _I_ have no desire to do so. My desire is in the palm of your son’s hand.”

Alfred slowly brings his head back up and stares out of the window behind Jeremiah. The sun’s rays’ stream in and away from the vampire who sits in the shade. He knows he is being harsh but, someone should. He swore to the Wayne’s that he would protect Bruce for as long as he is alive. To take him in as his own son. He decides to lower his shield. “He is a good boy with a light soul. I beseech you, do not take that from him,” he said, in a faint voice.

Jeremiah’s eyelids lower softly as he slowly turns his head towards the sun’s rays. He removes his glove and attempts to curl his ghostly fingers in the light. “Even the darkest of creatures are capable of love.”

Alfred curiously observes Jeremiah touch the light with his bare hand and then, smiles sincerely for the first time in the vampire’s presence. “Martha Wayne.” He couldn’t help but be impressed that he quoted directly from the Mrs. herself.

“Tell me… how can I, a creature of ‘pure evil’, be capable of love?” Jeremiah asked as he drops his hand after feeling a prickling sensation. “I came to see you out of courtesy because I know how much you mean to him. I can promise you with all that is me, what is left in this dark soul…” he places both of his hands over the middle of his chest, “That I love Bruce and will love him for of this life and more.”

Alfred takes a deep breath and anxiously rubs his thighs under the table. Until finally, he nods, feeling defeated. “I was unaware of your true sentiments, but I do know how he feels for you. He chose you and I must respect his decision. _However_ , do not assume that his undying lust for you would keep me from hunting you down if you ever hurt my boy,” Alfred gently glares at the other with those final words.

Jeremiah’s grin returns with a slight chuckle. “I wouldn’t see it any other way.”

Alfred finally relaxes back on the chair with a heavy sigh. “Well then, now that we have discussed the worse, how can I be of service?”

“I came to ask…,” Jeremiah glances down at the white rose on the table and then back up at Bruce’s guardian. “for your blessing.”

Suddenly, all the blood drains from Alfred’s face, going pale in surprise.

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce Wayne rides across the autumn heath on the white stallion, away from the cemetery and towards Wayne manor’s exterior. In the wind, he blushes, eyes closed, feeling invigorated. When he opened his eyes, he noticed a huge black horse galloping over the mucky dull grass.

He squints. _Hades_.

Persephone automatically picks up speed, stomping her hooves excitedly. Bruce grips over the reins and bends forward. In a short distance, he spots a figure in a black frock coat in a tree’s shade. Suddenly, he felt his heart shoot up to his throat and a buzzing swirl of joy in his stomach. “Jeremiah,” he said, breathily with a smile stretching across his cheeks as he gallops closer and closer to his lover.

Jeremiah stepped out of the shade and towards Bruce. His beam stretched across his face as well, with gleaming eyes as he removed his black circular sunglasses.

Persephone halts with a loud neigh when she approached her master. Bruce jumps off her back and rushes into Jeremiah’s open arms. He embraces him, fully wrapping his arms around him and digging his face into his neck, desperately breathing in the familiar woodsy sensual aroma Jeremiah gives off, making him dizzy.

Persephone quickly joins the black stallion on the moors and canter playfully alongside one another.

Jeremiah pulls Bruce’s head back to firmly press his lips against the other in a deep passionate kiss.

Bruce moans softly as the chilly tingle of those red luscious lips contact his. Its plumpness consuming his thin ones. His hands tremble from the exhilaration, as they pull back fleetingly to look at each other. He gently caresses Jeremiah’s porcelain skin, admiring his silver eyes and flawless features.

Jeremiah leans into Bruce’s hand, pleased that he is not distant because of last night. “I never meant for you to see me that way.”

Bruce shakes his head. “I am not afraid of you,” he confirmed. Jeremiah _was_ indeed frightening when he emerged from the dark hall but, he was being protective. It does not change Bruce’s feelings for him, in fact, it enhances it.

They gaze longingly into each other’s eyes before their lips roughly collide once more and overlap one another as if it’s been years since they last touched.

Jeremiah hums delightfully when Bruce’s tongue impatiently curls inside his mouth. “ _Ah_ ,” he groaned, softy. Bruce’s sweet taste and sensual touch stunning him and waking the hunger that dwells inside. “Mm.” He carefully pulls Bruce back a bit. “My love, please…,” he whispered over their lips. “I will ravish you on this very ground if you continue this behavior.” Bruce should know by now that Jeremiah is not entirely well disciplined in his presence yet.

A soft whine escapes Bruce’s lips as he pressed their foreheads together. He smiles affectionately, “Mm…on the chilly garden grounds? Really?” He gazes at him, eyes half-lidden. “Ravish me then. I’ve waited long enough,” he commanded.

Jeremiah’s hands clutch over Bruce’s coat eager to tug it off. He closes his eyes and inhales the dulcet honeysuckles as his throat softly rumbles. “Please,” he begged.

Bruce pulls back with a heavy sigh after hearing the vampire’s struggle. “If you insist,” he settled, feeling slightly disappointed.

Jeremiah gives himself a moment to recover before speaking. “Soon. _Very_ soon.”

A deep blush spreads across Bruce’s cheeks as he beams bashfully.

Jeremiah takes hold of Bruce’s hand, entangling his fingers with the others and leading him inside the gardens. “The place has potential. It needs love,” he pointed out, looking around at the flowerless bushes and overgrown greenery. Besides the natural orange hues from the season, the garden appears lifeless and unattended.

“Yes. It does.” Now that his spirit is uplifted, he is eager to refurbish the gardens. In honor of his mother. He gazes out into the landscape but, his mind goes back to the Valeska’s mansion, hearing Jerome’s screams echoing through the dark halls. He gulps, “Jerome is planning my murder, isn’t he?”

Jeremiah huffs and squeezes Bruce’s hand. “Don’t fret. Leave my brother to me. His fiancé is wonderfully catering to his needs. I am incredibly grateful for her. He has become much humbler in her presence.”

Bruce finds it strange but, perhaps, there is a side of Jerome he has yet to discover. He did see a glimpse of it last night. “He is not going to let me go. His hatred towards me is extreme. How can we ever truly be together if he constantly wants to separate us?” he asked, agitatedly.

“The problem is not you, Bruce, it’s with _me_. He is worried about me leaving him, leaving the clan and all we have built over the centuries, and I will not. But in return, he must allow me to love and choose my mate willingly.” He slows down momentarily to reach into his coat pocket. He pulls out the special dagger from last night.

Bruce stood transfixed by it.

“Now, that he is aware that this exists. I need you to keep it here safely.” He carefully hands the dagger over.

The moment his gloved fingers brushed over the clear quartz handle of the fancy golden dagger, an electric shock pulsed into his fingers and up his forearm. He gasps.

Jeremiah watches Bruce curiously inspect the blade in hand. “Familiar?”

“Hm…I…” He pulls off the gold and ruby adorned sheath. The sun gleams over the sharp tip. “I don’t know…” he replied, dreamily.

Jeremiah does not want to complicate matters. He would prefer if Bruce figures things out on his own. He does not want to overwhelm him as he did with the painting. “Hm.” He nods and then continues to stroll.

Bruce brings himself back from a day-dream then, sheaths the blade and tucks it inside his coat.

After a while, Jeremiah stops in front of a three-tiered old stone fountain. At the peak, a seraph pours water out of a vase while sitting atop a centaur. Shrubs have grown over the sprout adorned edges and in the slopes of the seraph’s robes and around the horse’s knees. The gentle morning sun glistens over the water’s ripples. He grabs Bruce’s forearm and turns him around, then, pulls him close by his waist. He remembers Alfred’s words. It resonates inside him. He knows that forcing Bruce to become a vampire is selfish and so… he will have to endure whatever decision Bruce makes. “Bruce…” he began, sensing pure and irresistible vigor that reverberates from the young man’s being. He swallows, feeling parched. “I refuse to take your light soul from you.”

Bruce places the palm of his hand on Jeremiah’s hard chest over his midnight blue vest. No heartbeat. “I must search for other means of immortality that doesn’t require me to entirely give up my soul.”

He nods. “Nonetheless, I would understand. I’ll enjoy you in this lifetime and then find you in another,” Jeremiah chuckled softly, but, eyelids sadly hanging low.

Bruce sighs. “Regardless of my past life, I was brought to this new one with a destiny to fulfill. I must continue my family’s legacy. It is in my blood. It is who I am. My purpose is to protect the people of Gotham. To be a supernatural hunter.”

As a vampire, Jeremiah does not feel natural human emotions. However, at this moment a wave of melancholy chills over the deepest part of his chest. This cold feeling is not the same one in his aura. This one is an aching pain. He sadly bends his head down, coming to terms with Bruce’s decision.

Bruce brings a hand up to lift Jeremiah’s chin, noticing the sadness in his features. “But…so are _you_.”

Jeremiah’s brows knit together as he searched Bruce’s earthly irises for clarification.

“I feel as if I’ve known you my entire life and oddly, many other lives. It is hard for me to explain. When we met at the masquerade it was as if…our souls combined, reunited after so long,” Bruce reminisced.

Jeremiah remembers wandering in his full white suit and Volto mask as quiet as a ghost through guests waltzing and jabbering joyfully. The abyss of his dark soul was alerting him that his long-lost lover was near. He searched until he found a dark-haired man in a full black suit and mask observing the cellist’s solo performance and the orchestra. A powerful sense of resurgence charged out of his being towards the other. This invisible cord reeled him in and connected him to his other half.

Bruce rubs his thumb over full blushing lips, biting his own gently in the process.

Jeremiah kisses Bruce thumb, lips tracing over the other fingers and eventually over the back of his hand. “Bruce,” he breathes softly, stepping away to reach into his frock coat. He reveals the blooming pearly white rose and places it in Bruce’s hand.

The flower’s vibrant petals bloom despite the weather. The last of its kind before winter’s arrival. Bruce lovingly gazes it. So many secrets held within its fragrant beauty. A pure gesture of everlasting love and rebirth. He averts his glossy gaze towards silver eyes shining like opal minerals and occasionally to those moist red lips. “Jere…,” he whimpered, sensing something coming.

“I, Jeremiah Valeska, a dark soul, a vampire, asks you, Bruce Wayne, a light soul, a hunter and protector of the people of Gotham…to join me.” He swallows. “Join me into eternal life as my eternal lover. Complete me. Love me.” He paused, and then, cups Bruce’s blushing dazed face with one hand while gripping Bruce’s hand with the rose in the other. “Marry me.”

Bruce’s lips part into a gasp. In that very moment, a gust a wind flows by them, ruffling their coats, reminding Bruce of his parents. He can feel the rose’s thorns digging into his glove and poking his skin, he…enjoys it. Reminding him he can have both. He beamed, as he whispers from the heart, “I’m yours.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH!!!! Part 1 of this series has come to an end! Whoop whoop! Haha!  
> The white rose: Originally the red rose was a symbol of Bruce and Jeremiah’s romantic love in their past life and when they reunited in this one. It signified their love reigniting. NOW, the white rose has two meanings. (1) Purity, unity and true love, also known as the bridal rose/ tradtional for wedding BUT, (2) it can also be used as a memorial for a departed loved ones. SO…this symbolizes Bruce becoming Jeremiah’s eternal lover/husband but, he would also be sacrificing another part of him. That part of him will die and he will be reborn. I hope this makes sense, haha.
> 
> Music that inspired the ending:  
> 1) Tear It From My Chest (Piano & Cello) by Peter Gundry: The cemetery scene.  
> 2) Light and Shadow by Philip Wesley  
> 3) Various Storms & Saints by Florence + The Machine: It’s sort of Martha’s message to Bruce and Bruce to her.  
> 4) 2U (Cover) by Jungkook: Wedding song? Heheheheh <3333 
> 
> I want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for reading my AU story with one of the best ships ever created. We love these boys soooo much! I really hope you enjoyed and please feel free to chat with me about anything anytime.
> 
> What’s next?  
> I hope to start part 2 of this series soon and another part of this series (if anyone’s interested) titled “Harley’s Diary” that will focus on her relationship with Jerome, her becoming the much-loved Vampiress in the Valeska’s clan, and her meeting Ivy in the woods. 
> 
> Thank you, again. LOVE YOU ALL!!! xoxoxox <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Catastrophe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17976761) by [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative)




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